We're All Alright
by TheCatalystx
Summary: There's the "high school experience", and then there's the Beacon Hills High School experience. In this place, survival is a whole new game, and usually the McCall siblings wouldn't have even been picked to play. But Scott's been given an advantage, and this time, Audrey knows things are going to be different... because the game was rigged from the start. AU.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The first thing you need to understand is that I never meant for anyone to get hurt.

First and foremost, it's important to remember that to keep things in perspective. The reality of the situation was that I, as well as all of my friends, had a terrible secret that no one would _ever_ believe. _Every day,_ we had to deal with things like murder. Stalking and arson, and corrupt families. _Terrible_ , tragic things that were happening all around us! _Yeah_. Imagine it! It sounds awful, doesn't it? But throw in the small detail of a werewolf and suddenly it's not a big deal anymore. We all knew about every disaster that made the headlines in Beacon Hills, and we also knew that those articles fell just short of the truth because they missed one huge part of the story.

And these things traumatized us! We all carry the scars in our own ways. We all bear the brunt of everything that happened the best we can. It might not be healthy, but it's the best we can do.

The police didn't know what to do, because they could never figure out who was really behind everything. And even if we told them they'd never believe the truth of who was responsible. _A werewolf?_ Get real! We'd be shipped off to the loony bin for _sure_ —that, or pumped full of medication.

Because werewolves aren't _real_. I mean, come on. There was one time I actually did try to tell my mom, and to borrow the phrasing of her response: _be serious._ As far as our parents were concerned—as far as the _police_ were concerned, werewolves were characters that writers throw into stories to make tragedies seem less tragic, and more fantasy. _Stories_. Fabrications used to placate children. Because while these stories are told to scare others with horrific tales of _monsters_ and _evil creatures_ , at the end of the night you can always turn the lights back on and tell them that they're not real. None of that could really ever happen because it's _impossible_. They don't exist.

The bitter irony was that we all knew the truth, and we could do nothing about it. Not legally, anyway. And all the while, we were children. Still, it fell to us. I was doing the best that I could possibly do in the circumstances I was under. Every decision I made, every choice I chose, was all with the belief that _that_ was the best way to handle the situation to where everyone would come out of it alright. Or, at least, they'd come out of it _alive_ —if a little worse for wear.

Sure, I made some mistakes. I made _plenty_ of mistakes. I should've been honest from the very beginning; I should have come clean from day one. But every time a new secret came along, it seemed like it was the most important, most scary thing I'd ever had to deal with, and that was a lot of pressure for a fifteen-year-old kid!

The saddest part of the whole thing is that by the end of it, I came out a totally different person. I feel like someone completely unrecognizable now. The others make it look _easy_ , they make it look like typical, every day teenage drama—and in some ways, I hate them for that. It sickens me to admit it, but I do. I _hate_ how easy they can roll with the punches, because all of this dragged me _so far_ down that when it was over, I'm not sure who came back up!

When I look back on this year, oftentimes I have to remind myself that it isn't all a hallucination. I have to go pull up the floorboard in my room and touch the cool metal of the chains I keep there, just so I can remember that it's all really true. That there really was a time when I had to use them on Scott, and that I'm not just living a delusion.

I guess the most frequent consequence to all of this would be the nightmares. They happen just about every night now. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat, and I can swear I hear something moving around in the yard.

This is one of those nights. I jerked up in bed; my throat raw and dry as if I'd been screaming, and the first thing I do is check Scott's room. Every night. I check to make sure he's okay, that he's there and he's not in danger anymore.

I stand there in my oversized sweater and shorts, with my sleeve pulled over my fingers and my hand pressed to my mouth, and I watch his still form for a few moments. Long enough to watch the blankets rise a bit—to see the breaths he takes lift the covers—and that's enough to calm my racing heart. That's enough to chase the itching fear away.

Sometimes, when it's really bad and I'm feeling super paranoid, I'll call Stiles. He doesn't always answer, but most of the time just hearing his voice through his voicemail is enough to calm me down. I worry about him the most.

Then, after I leave a message explaining that I had another nightmare, I'll go downstairs to grab a glass of water and go back to bed. Tonight, I was just reaching into the fridge when I heard what sounded like a loud crash on the porch. My heart jumped in my throat and I froze, straining my ears to hear anything else.

For a long moment there was nothing. But then it came again—a sort of rustling, just outside the front door. I stepped away from the fridge, the empty glass on the counter glinting in its light. The all too familiar sensation of adrenaline trickled through my body as I quietly crept down the dark hall. Someone was walking across the porch; I could hear the thuds from their footfalls.

I rushed forward and pressed my nose into the glass of the front door, my eyes darting through the night. At first I didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but then a bright orange shard caught my eye. One of the flowerpots had been knocked off its post—shattered and ruined and lying on the floor of the porch.

I grabbed the bat from the coatrack by the door, and as quietly as I could manage, I opened the front door. My eyes darted from side to side as I stepped barefoot onto the cement porch, the chill from the night barely registering in my mind. I looked down at the ruined plant and clenched my jaw in frustration. Looks like I'd have to replace that— _again_.

Gripping the bat tightly in my fingers, I turned my attention to the yard. Something was rustling off to the side, and I raised the bat up and quietly tiptoed to the steps. I leaned around one of the hedges and held my breath.

A figure came out from behind the bush, and I screamed and swung the bat out as hard as I could. Raising my arms back up, I let out a battle cry and prepared to swing again when a flash of pink caught in my vision—and then I heard my mom's voice.

" _Audrey_ , what the hell are you doing!?"

I froze, blinking widely at her as my grip on the bat hesitated. I looked at her shocked face, then down at the bag of groceries that lay scattered at her feet. The bag had been torn and I could see a few eggs that were smashed into the sidewalk. Immediately I dropped the bat and gasped, horrified at what I'd done.

"Mom!" My voice was raspy and trembling with shock. "Oh, my god! I'm _so_ sorry!"

"Audrey, _what_ is going on with you?" She snapped, bending over to try and salvage the groceries. "Oh," she grunted, sighing heavily as she shook some egg slime off her fingers. She looked up and tutted at me. "And _where_ are your socks? Get inside! God, it's after midnight, Audrey! Why are you awake?"

I knelt down to pick up a few groceries with her and cleared my throat. " _Sorry_ , I thought you were a burglar or something!" I gripped a bag of bread a little too tightly.

She sighed at me again and snatched the bread from my hands, shaking her head. "So you _call the police!"_ I blinked dumbly in surprise and watched as she stood up and stepped around me. "You don't grab a bat and attack! What if I had a gun, Audrey?" She stomped up the stairs and shook her head at the broken plant. "You need to use your head! I can't always be around to tell you what to do."

I used to think like her. Logically; playing by the rules instilled in every American from a young age. If you're in danger, the first thing you do is call the police. It's their job to take care of you. They'll keep you safe.

But I can't think like that anymore. I can't call the police when a werewolf tries to kill me; I have to call Scott, and if that fails—Stiles. And if that fails, Allison, and then Derek, and so on.

But the police? They are strictly a last resort. Or else they're used as a strategic pawn to get someone to back off.

I sighed and picked up the bat, trailing behind my mom. I gave the potted plant and smashed eggs one last glance before going inside.

Mom had waited for me in the foyer, her shoulders slumped and face tired. "I'm sorry for yelling." She gave me that sad, puppy-dog look that Scott does so well. Well… he had to learn it from someone. "You're just scaring me lately. I know you're still having nightmares. Is this about your father?"

My eyebrows shot up and I almost dropped the bat again. Using it as an excuse to look away from her, I set it back in its spot by the coat rack. For some reason, mom's first instinct is to lay the blame with our absent father. It's never true, but I've been known to use him an excuse from time to time. Shouldering him with the blame is a lot easier than trying to explain homicidal werewolves. Not like he's here to defend himself.

I turned back and gave her a shrug, and she sighed and shook her head for the hundredth time since coming home. She made her way to the kitchen—taking my _absent father_ excuse and running with it. I nodded at some points, apologized at others, and trailed behind her.

"We're doing just fine without— _ugh_ ," She looked between the open fridge and my face, throwing her head back with a loud sigh. "Audrey! What am I going to do with you? Now I have to tell you to close the fridge when you're done? What do you kids think, I'm made of money?"

And so it went.

But I guess the best place to start all of this would be the beginning of my freshman year. _That's_ when everything changed.


	2. Chapter 1

_**This chapter is just setting the stage. It'll be slow at parts to start, but that's just because I'm trying to build their character and paint a picture of their life**_ **before _the bite..._**

* * *

"All right, Scott," My voice was low and intense, like a commentator on a sport's channel. I smacked my hands together and rubbed them quickly, bouncing on my heels slightly. "This is it. This is the one—I can feel it. Now, remember, all you have to do," I took my brother by the shoulders and pointed down at the goal. "Is hit that net."

"Hit that net," He nodded, the slightly oversized helmet bobbing on his head. I smirked at the sight and smacked his shoulder one last time before I took a step back. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. "Hit the net," He repeated, in an overly casual tone.

I had only taken three steps away, but it didn't take long to come to a stop as I watched him slowly freak himself out.

"Just hit the net," He muttered slightly neurotically, twirling the lacrosse stick in his hands. "Hit the—" He twirled it too quickly and lost his grip, fumbling to catch the stick.

Quickly, his head jerked up and he looked at me to see if I had witnessed that. My eyebrows were raised and my hands were on my hips, and he immediately winced. I bit back another smirk. "Just—"

"Hit the net, I know." He sighed.

I put my hands up in a calming gesture, taking measured steps away. "You'll be fine!" I pointed down at the goal and he nodded as he lowered the stick to the ground.

Holding my hand up, I pressed play on my iPod. The speakers we'd set up outside started thumping out the bass, rattling the windows of our house and the potted plants on the porch.

Reggae cackled through the speakers, the deep voices and rhythmic drums curling through the air. Scott spread his feet and lowered slightly to the ground. Dressed in a workout shirt and basketball shorts, I could tell his arms had gained some definition and his legs weren't toothpicks anymore. All summer, he'd been training.

I was a year younger than Scott, but I understood and supported his desire to do well on the lacrosse team. It's been his dream since junior high. This was his year though; I could feel it! Over the past two months, he'd done nothing but work out and push himself to the limits—that is, when he wasn't out causing trouble or playing video games with Stiles, of course.

 _Stiles_. I sighed in frustration as he reared the stick back and lugged the ball towards the goal. It rammed into the edge of the net, a loud metal ping reverberating through the music, and Scott whirled around to pump his fist triumphantly.

Feigning excitement, I threw up a thumb and wagged it at him with a fake smile plastered to my face. "Best one yet!" I called, and Scott nodded before jogging to retrieve the ball. He added it to the pile of lacrosse balls by his feet. As he set everything back up, I dropped my hand to my shoe and began to pick at the knot in my laces.

Stiles had been Scott's best friend for as long as I could honestly remember. Before Stiles, Scott was _my_ best friend. But then as he got older, he stopped wanting to play Pokemon cards and hangout in our secret hideaway in the attic—and started playing cops and robbers with Stiles. Stiles also had a Nintendo 64 and a Gamecube, so, you know… Game consoles trump little sisters.

But as they got older, Scott developed asthma, and though both of the boys wanted nothing more than to climb the social pyramid of Beacon Hills, Stiles often had to stop and pull Scott up along the way. I know Scott better than anyone else does, so I know that he lets his illness hamper his potential.

But that's all going to change. This year is going to be different… I can _feel_ it. And what Scott doesn't show to Stiles is that he's scared. He's scared that this year is going to be just like all the others—that he's going to want to be popular—to be _seen_ so badly that he'll just muck it up and make a fool of himself.

And as his little sister, I can't afford to let that happen again. I'm sick and tired of seeing Scott embarrass himself. I'm sick and tired of seeing the disappointment and shame glint in his eyes—and for what? Because our stupid classmates are too judgmental and hormonal to see my brother for who he truly is, and not just some scrawny asthmatic dork?

No. Not again. This year will be different. I'm finally a freshman, so I'll be at school with him, for one. I'll make sure it goes differently this year. Scott stood in front of the net, his cleats digging into the grass as he tilted his head and cracked his neck. He rolled his shoulders and tossed the ball a bit before glancing back at me. I pointed to his knees and he quickly adjusted his stance before facing the goal again. Rearing back, he threw the ball. His technique was sloppy, but it got the job done, because this time the ball hit the net. Encouraged, he picked up another ball from the ground. And then another. And then another, and so on. Every one of them hit the net, some of them even causing it to dip slightly upon impact, and when the last one was thrown Scott practically shot off from the ground like a rocket.

"Did you see that?" He cried over the music, and I was already out of my seat. I hopped over to him as we both jumped up and down and cheered, Scott throwing the lacrosse stick triumphantly to the ground.

"Where the hell has _that_ been for the past two months? No—the past two _years?_ " I screeched, gesturing at all the white balls that littered the grass around the goal.

"I have no idea!" He grinned, still bobbing.

I suddenly stilled, reaching out to take him by the shoulders. "Scott! Do you know what this means?"

He paused, glancing back at the goal. I watched as his mind worked and he slowly turned back to me. "I'm finally gonna make first string!"

"No more bench," I added, and he laughed giddily.

"No more bench!"

 _"No more bench!"_

We threw our heads back and hands in the air, hollering it in unison.

The music suddenly cut out, and Scott and I turned to see our mom holding my iPod in her hand. She dropped the cord to the amp, letting it fall onto the porch with a sharp thud, and Scott pointed excitedly to the goal. She was dressed in pink scrubs, and I felt disappointment flood quickly through me. We were all supposed to eat dinner together and play a board game—like old times, to celebrate the last night of summer. But clearly that wouldn't happen. Oblivious, Scott continued. "Mom, look!"

"Hey! That's great—" she broke off as something under her shoes crunched loudly, sounding strangely like thick glass. She looked down and her entire body stiffened as she realized what she stepped on. " _Really_? Audrey, what've I told you about setting the amp up outside?" Mom sighed, quickly rushing down the steps. The bass from the speakers had sent two flowerpots crashing to the porch. She opened her purse and dug for her keys, stuffing my iPod inside while she was at it.

"Hey!" I whined, swiping fruitlessly for the iPod. She smacked my hand away and pointed up at me.

"You owe me two plants." She said, jerking her chin towards the porch as she brushed past us. "Hey, great work with your lacrosse, Scott!"

Scott beamed and bobbed in place, looking at me and quickly rearranging his face when he saw my brooding, sulky expression.

"Now… I have to go into work. There's money on the table, order pizza or something." I glanced at Scott from the corner of my eye, " _One_ pizza." My shoulders slumped again. "And I don't want Stiles over tonight, got it? It's the night before school. You need your rest, Scott."

"Hey mom, maybe it's time for a vacation," I suggested, and she gave me a glare. I pressed my lips together and sighed. "I'll have the plants fixed by the time you get home." I said, and she pointed at me and nodded seriously. Scott and I exchanged an amused glance. It was always bemusing when mom tried to be tough. She called out once more before ducking into the car, waving when she pulled away.

"So much for Family Night." I sighed, trudging towards the steps.

"You know, she didn't even apologize or mention it at all." Scott noted as he made his way towards the goal. "I think she forgot."

"Oh, ya think?" I snapped, and Scott shot me a dirty look.

"Is this how it's gonna be for the rest of the night?" He darkly commented. "Because if so, you can go jogging or something. That'd be fine."

"Hey, Scott? Kiss my ass!"

And just like that, the camaraderie had vanished. Scott and I didn't get along as well as we used to. Ever since the beginning of the summer, something between us had shifted. I don't know what's changed, but it's like we can't go more than four hours without bickering.

Scott cut something back at me and angrily gathered up the rest of the lacrosse balls. I set to work cleaning up the broken potted plants, picking the shards of clay from the soil. Scott brushed roughly past me on the way in, and I managed to sneak in a comment about his stench.

He cut something back about my lack of friends, and I said something mean about his lacrosse skills. It took me twenty minutes to get the broken pots taken care of and the porch swept. There was no salvaging the plants, so I threw those away, too.

I pushed the door open and bounded up the steps, throwing a dirty look to Scott's bedroom door—which was shut with his own iPod blasting workout music. Pushing into my room, I sighed and tugged my hair into a quick braid, changed into jogging sweats, and looked over my shoulder at my closed door. Scott was still apparently working out, so I knelt on the ground and reached under the cabinet of my window seat.

Taking out a shoebox, I shuffled through some of the contents and pulled out a small stack of twenties. I paused and stared down at the box, hesitating only briefly before snapping up the white joint that lay inside as well. Tucking those things away, I shoved the shoebox back into its hiding place and made my way downstairs.

I stuck a twenty onto the fridge with instructions for Scott to order a pizza—one side extra cheese, one side meat lover's.

And with that, I grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge and bounded down the porch steps. I paused on the sidewalk and considered which way to go. Ultimately, I settled for the woods, since I could cut through them and it would be a great scenic shortcut to the hardware store.

I set a brisk pace down the road, the setting sun casting a pleasant glow to the evening. The air was perfect—not too humid; warm, but not stifling, with a breeze that would work nicely to chill any sweat I might work up. The neighborhood was quiet, since most families were probably inside having dinner at this point.

Normally I would have my iPod with me to help set my pace, but apparently I'd have to go without that tonight since my _mom_ took it from me. Instead, I took the opportunity to mull over the strange state of my relationship with my brother.

If I'm totally honest, Scott and I began having problems right about the time I received a letter from dad. I had battled with myself for days—to tell Scott or not to tell him? _Mom_ didn't even know about it. In fact, the only ones who know about the letter are dad and I! Well, us, and the U.S. Postal Service.

The problem is, Scott holds a grudge against dad for leaving (and obviously mom does too). I wasn't so sure. I mean, the guy is a prick for crushing our hearts and leaving us, sure, but that doesn't mean I want nothing to do with him at all, _ever_. I miss him sometimes. Honestly, I didn't get the chance to know him well, so when I say I miss him it's a bit strange. How can you miss someone you don't even know? But I do. And I think that's why I never had the guts to burn the letter, or to throw it away.

I think I'm afraid of what telling mom and Scott about the letter would do to us. It's something that could cause problems, something that could cause a rift in our otherwise relatively contented lifestyle. We'd found our rhythm. We'd long ago adjusted to life without two parents, and mom seems happy enough. What good would a letter from our estranged father do?

None. So, I kept the letter to myself and never wrote back. It's short, and disappointing—distant and confusing. He starts off by telling me he hopes we're all doing well. Then, he gets into where he's at, and what he does (he's a detective or something, I think) he brushes over some memories he has of my brother and I. And strangely, he ends with telling me that if I ever wanted to meet up or call him, that'd be fine. He must imagine that I have questions for him. He signs his name with a telephone number, and I have to wonder why he didn't just call us. I mean—who writes _letters_ anymore?

The letter _did_ spark a million questions though. Like, why did he write _me_? Why not Scott? And how did he know that I was the one who gets the mail? What if Scott had gone to get the mail for once, or mom had been home, and she'd seen the handwritten letter addressed to me? Why did he want to talk to me? Why did he want to talk to us if he left?

And it's not like I have friends to discuss this with. Ordinarily I'd talk to Scott about it, but something told me he'd only get pissed, so I kept it to myself. I've almost told him a million times. The closest I came was when I brought dad up as casually as I could manage after watching a rerun of That 70's Show with Scott. I asked him if he thought our dad would be like Red, and he responded with a very short, noncommittal answer that still somehow managed to be aggressive. He said, 'Does it matter? _He_ walked out.'

So, there you have it. If I told him that dad had written a letter, my greatest fear is that he'd say that exact same phrase to me. Scott is usually a very affectionate brother. If I come to him with my problems, he handles them like he would if Stiles had come to him. Or… he used to.

When I decided to keep the letter from him, it became difficult for me to interact with him. Every time he'd look at me, every time he said something, I wondered if that was something he'd inherited from our dad. And every time I saw him, I wanted to know what he thought of meeting dad.

But I was too afraid of him shooting me down. I didn't say anything, especially since I couldn't tell if any of it _really_ mattered anyway, and I became short with him. He probably thought I was just PMSing all the time.

The woods in Beacon Hills could be downright tranquil. They were so calm and quiet, so removed from the city. They held an almost… supernatural quality. It made jogging through them a treat, and also, a little nerve-wracking. I mean, it's _quiet_.

Actually, at the moment, it's more than quiet… it's… it's _silent_. Apart from the sounds of my footfalls and breathing, there were no birds chirping, or animals rustling, or bugs buzzing.

I slowed to a fast walk and paused, the back of my neck prickling with the sensation of something watching me. I struggled to catch my breath, and the sound of a twig snapping behind me stopped my heart. It stuttered in my chest and my eyes went wide, and suddenly holding my breath wasn't such a challenge as I struggled to identify what could be moving behind me.

It was close. Close enough that I could tell it was just behind me, to the right a little. Off the path, because there were too many twigs and not enough rocks when it rustled.

I pressed my lips together and turned slowly.

And I screamed.

* * *

" _Where am I?_ I _told_ you! I'm in the woods!" I screeched, pacing back and forth.

"Okay, ma'am, stay where you're at—"

 _"_ _Hell_ _no!"_

"Ma'am, if you move around, it will take longer for us to track you."

"But if I _stay_ , I'll have to—to stay with—the—with _her!"_ I threw my hands up and shook my head wildly. _"No way!"_

And that's how my first nine-one-one call went. I screamed at the dispatcher about the body I had just stumbled across, struggled to explain that there was only _half_ of it there (and I'm not sure the dispatcher ever really caught onto that fact), before finally breaking into a dead sprint in the opposite direction.

The dispatcher freaked out and told me to stay where I was because first of all, the police are on their way to the coordinates of where she'd tracked my phone at, and if I moved it would make it more difficult for the police to find me(and the body). Second of all, if someone had been murdered in the woods, the predator could still be at large.

It was with _that_ lovely little tidbit that I dropped my phone and scurried up the nearest tree. The tree I perched in wasn't far from the body—only about a minute's run in the opposite direction, because that's how long it took the dispatcher to explain that to me.

When Stiles' dad found me (I struggle to think of him as the Sheriff), night had fallen. In the end, they tracked my scent using a dog, and the dog's barking made me freak out and clamp up. Which is why they sent out a search party; because they had just found a brutally murdered girl, not far from my age, dead in the woods, and now I had gone missing in those same woods. And I was the one to find the body. And I had gone missing in the _midst_ of my nine-one-one call. And it'd been about an hour and a half since anyone had heard from me, and the sun was setting fast. It wasn't until I had realized that the vicious barking was just an excited canine unit alerting its master that it had found the source of the smell it was tracking that I finally managed to squeak down at a nearby police officer.

So, here I am, wrapped in a shock blanket, perched on the back of an ambulance. Night had long since fallen. And who do I see being led by the ear but Stiles Stilinski? Sheriff dragged him past me, and against my better judgment, I threw my hand out and called for them.

"Oh, my god! Audrey!" Stiles hollered, relief flooding his voice. "We thought you'd been murdered for sure!"

Sheriff smacked the back of his head and I breathed out in relief, ignoring the rude nature of Stiles' comment. "We?" Sheriff narrowed his eyes at his son.

"Uh—yeah! I told you, Scott _asked_ me to go looking for his sister. He was worried! And I had to do something because of what I knew."

"Which was?"

"That there was already one girl found dead, and then Audrey went missing." Stiles smoothly covered.

"Scott didn't come?" I frowned, my heart prickling with hurt. Stiles glanced away at a nearby police car.

"Uhh, _nope_. Nah, he has to rest up—you know, for the big day tomorrow."

"So you came out to look for me—your best friend's _missing_ sister—by yourself." I flatly asked, unconvinced and staring directly at Stiles. " _Without_ your best friend. On the night someone our age was found murdered, and I went missing. In the same woods someone _our age_ was found _murdered_? Without my _brother_? Because he needed to _rest_?"

"My sentiments exactly." Sheriff echoed, crossing his arms at his son. At this point, Sheriff and I held identical stances—myself perched in the back of an ambulance, Sheriff standing in the headlights of a parked police vehicle. Stiles looked nervously between both of us.

"What?" He said with too much conviction. "I'm telling the truth! He's freaking out, waiting for you to come home."

"So he really didn't come looking for me?" I asked, remembering the fight we'd had before I left. To be honest, all I want to do is hug him. Stiles nodded directly at me, unblinking and unflinching. I've seen Stiles lie before. True, not about something so big; it's usually lying about eating my last chocolate doughnut or something useless like that, but I can almost always tell.

I was too tired to fight him on it, so I took his word and looked down, dejected.

Stiles watched me for a beat more before looking away. "You guys need help searching?" He eagerly asked his father.

Sheriff rolled his eyes and pushed him towards me. "Get her home, and then _you_ get home. If I catch wind that you went back out, you'll be grounded for the rest of your life—got it? This isn't a joke, Stiles; it's not some comic book, do you understand what I'm saying?" Stiles' face went slightly pink and he glanced nervously at me as his father scolded him right in front of me. He shifted restlessly and nodded. "A girl was _murdered_ , and Audrey could've been seriously hurt tonight! Let this be a lesson for both of you. You need to be more careful, Beacon Hills isn't immune. Bad things can happen _anywhere_!"

"Wow, dad, that's very reassuring." Stiles quipped dryly, and Sheriff shot him a warning glare.

"Get her home." He pointed at me and gave one last lingering frown to Stiles before turning away.

I started to say something, but as soon as his dad was distracted, Stiles reached up and tugged me out of the back of the ambulance. "Let's go!" He cried, grabbing the blanket off my shoulders and tossing it away as he practically dragged me towards the road.

"Wait! Where are we going?"

"We gotta get outta here! Scott might still be out there."

"What? You said he was home!"

Stiles shot me an incredulous look. "You _bought_ that?" I opened my mouth, but nothing came to mind so I quickly clamped it shut. Stiles breathed out a laugh. "Good! That means my dad probably did, too."

We stepped onto the road and began quickly moving a bit off the beaten path, tucked cleverly into some trees where I knew a small clearing of picnic tables and a parking lot was located.

Stiles was still dragging me by my sleeve, catching me up on all that I had missed that night. From Stiles overhearing dispatch say a jogger found a body in the woods, to running to tell my brother, to both of them freaking out because I was missing, to going on a mad hunt for me, and finally to being caught by his father.

"So, hey!—" He started, turning to look at me for a moment. I looked back at him and glanced away, my face growing red as he stared intensely at me, apparently at war with whether to ask me or not.

" _What_?" I snapped.

"What'd it look like?" He nodded.

My eyebrows shot up. "What'd _what_ look like?"

" _The body_ —come on, what'd it look like?"

" _Seriously_?" I scrunched my face at him and smacked his arm. "You're disgusting!"

"What?" He cried, as I shoved past him and continued stomping down the road. "Nothing exciting ever happens in this town! And when it does, I definitely don't know the people it happened to—so come on!" He grabbed my shoulder and turned me to face him as we walked. "What'd it look like?"

"Well I only saw _half of it_ so I can't say really—" I smacked his shoulder and he weakly tried to dodge me, a giddy laugh popping out of his mouth as I tried to chase him and smack him again. "Jack ass!"

"Alright, alright!" He put his hands up and gestured towards his jeep. "Point made. Let's go see if we can find Scott." I continued to glare at him. " _Sorry_!" He visibly bit back another comment, his mouth twisted into a forced pinch so he didn't laugh.

" _God_ ," I grunted, turning on my heels and stomping away from him. "I don't know how my brother can stand you sometimes."

"My dazzling wit and charming personality." He said without missing a beat.

"Right," I snorted, jerking the door of his jeep open. I climbed in and slammed it shut, "I think it was because you were the only one we knew who owned a Gamecube."

"Still do. And I owned him at Mario Cart, so who's the _real_ winner?"

"Mario Cart?" I laughed, reaching down to change the radio off of the police station. Music poured out of the speakers and I turned it down a little. "Please, you guys always played Animal Crossing."

"Yeah, and I freakin' pwned him at _that_ too."

I threw my head back and laughed, because Stiles had just _bragged_ about playing Animal Crossing. "Oh, my god," I chortled. "You guys are such _losers_!"

He backed out of the parking lot, eyes scanning the edge of the woods. "You're just jealous because we never let you play."

"Oh yeah? Is _that_ why? Really? Because I was _jealous?_ " I snorted, and he nodded. And as if I had suddenly flipped a switch, I changed my tone to be completely sober and serious. "Yeah, you're right."

Stiles snorted and glanced over at me. "Well, you know, I still have it if you ever want to play. You should've just asked."

"I did!"

Stiles' face scrunched. "You did not!"

"Yeah! I totally asked, all the time!" Stiles shook his head and I nodded vehemently. "Yes, yes, yes I did! And you guys would say I couldn't play because I was too young and—"

"Girls couldn't play on a Gamecube!" Stiles finished, his eyes wide. "Man… we were jerks to you."

" _I know!_ " I cried, and Stiles laughed. I rolled my eyes and suddenly gasped, digging through my pockets. I pulled out the white joint I'd grabbed from my room earlier and pulled out a lighter.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Stiles cried, gawking at the small white object pinched between my fingers. " _What_ is that?"

I paused and glanced down. "What?"

He gestured wildly at the joint in my hand. " _That!_ That paraphernalia!"

"Oh, my god," I flatly said, tilting my head at him with an annoyed look. "Dude, come on!"

Stiles slowed the jeep to a stop and turned to give me his full attention. "Audrey!" He touched his chest. "I am the _Sheriff's son_ , do you realize that?"

Sarcastically, I touched my chest, too. " _Whoa_ ," I drawled. "Seriously!? That's who that guy was? Oh, my gosh!" I brought my hand up to my forehead and pretended to think about it. "I just thought he didn't like you." Stiles threw me a dry look, and I smirked.

And with that, I withdrew the lighter and brought it up to the joint that I pinched between my lips.

"Audrey!" He exclaimed, swiping at the joint. "Come on! Don't, not in front of me!"

" _All right_ …" I testily agreed, snapping the joint out of my mouth and sighing at him. His shoulders slumped, but he continued to gawk at me. "Turn around."

He barked out a surprised laugh and made to swipe for the joint again, and I batted his hand away, holding it out of his reach. "Come on, Audrey, cut it out! It's not funny!"

"Oh, my god, Stiles," I grabbed onto his wrist and held it aloft. "Look, dude, I just saw half of a dead body. A _naked_ dead body, with its intestines and stuff all spilling out, no head or anything because it was the legs only." Stiles face scrunched, partly with delight at finally being told, and partly with sympathy and disgust. He relaxed a bit and I could tell I was slowly winning him over. "And did I say it was _naked_?" He was practically bursting, he wanted to say something so bad. "And before _that_ , I had a fight with Scott. So…" I wiggled the joint pointedly. "I was gonna do this in the woods, but you know… that didn't work out so hot! And I can't do it in the house."

Stiles gently jerked his hand away and pursed his lips, staring at me as he contemplated his options. "Well…"

"It's not like I'm asking you to do any of it. I'll blow it out the window and you can drop me off, and we'll never speak of it again." I waved my hand in his face. "Pretend it isn't happening… You didn't see _anything_."

He turned towards the windshield and stared outside for a few moments. The rain came down gently, the wipers swishing back and forth, and finally, he slowly crept the jeep into the speed limit.

His knuckles were tight on the wheel and I watched him for a few moments before turning back to face forward. Wordlessly, I rolled the window down. We both tried to ignore how incredibly awkward this had become.

And with the window cracked, I held the lighter to the joint and lit it. I blew the smoke out towards the cracked window as Stiles drove.

After two hits, I cleared my throat and glanced at him from the corner of my eye. "So… uh," My throat was tight and my mouth was dry from the smoke, but I'd lost my water bottle in the woods a while ago. "You didn't want to—"

"No." He said, his jaw tight.

"Right." I turned away and looked down at the joint. I hadn't smoked enough to really be feeling it yet, plus it takes a while for it to hit me anyways. Guess I'll fix mom's potted plants tomorrow… "The hardware store is probably closed… right?" I asked, and Stiles gave me a funny look. I pursed my lips and looked forward. "So… is Scott okay?"

Stiles sighed and tilted his head, suddenly sounding tired. It was a strange tone for him to take; in fact, I've never heard it come from him before. "Yeah, he's probably fine. I'm the one who got caught. Scott got away. He's probably waiting for you at home, worried sick."

I watched his tight jaw, and the way he always seemed coiled a little too tightly, like he could hardly stand to sit still for longer than two breaths before he had to twiddle his thumbs or bounce a knee. I pursed my lips and looked out my window. "Stiles… has anyone ever told you that you need to relax?"

"I'm _not_ gonna smoke with you, Audrey." Stiles came to a stop at a stop sign, and I sighed heavily.

"All right," I lamented, slightly disappointed. "You know, it's a lot like drinking." He purposefully stared out the window. "But you're happier, and it feels more like a dream." I paused, looking up. "And there's no hangover in the morning… no throwing up." He grunted. I flicked some of the ashes out the window and looked at him, mulling his figure over. "Come on." I said, wagging it at him. "Just one hit, you won't regret it. One hit probably won't even do anything."

"Audrey, I said no, all right?" He snapped, and I put my hands up.

"Okay, okay! Geez… Sorry." I pinched the joint in my fingers and took another drag, watching Stiles. He was sitting rigidly, clearly uncomfortable with this turn of events. He hadn't even mentioned Scott. Guilt and shame flooded me. "Stiles, I'm sorry. _Really_. I don't know why I was pushing it… Tonight's been weird, ya know?"

He sighed and shook his head. "I had no idea you did that stuff. I mean, how long have you been doing it?"

"I don't know." I shifted in my seat and brought my leg up, suddenly feeling a lot more relaxed, to the point that it had to be the THC hitting me. "I hardly ever do it. Only when I'm feeling really stressed or I have anxiety." I took a long drag and blew it out the window, choking a bit because I'd done too much at once. I quickly reached over to stub it out on his pristine, unused ashtray. After all, I didn't want to get _too_ stoned. I threw the rest out the window, not wanting there to be any more evidence of it in Stiles' vehicle.

Stiles sniffed and I could tell he was a little blown away. After all, I'm Scott's _little_ sister! I'm the innocent, good student. I follow them around like a puppy. You'd never expect me to have hidden something like this from him.

"Actually…" I felt the drug fully start to take effect, as my mouth got a little looser and I sank down in the seat of his jeep. Every time we passed a street lamp, I focused on it like my life depended on it, and the radio playing made me feel anxious for some reason. Everything that happened around me registered a few seconds too late, like it wasn't _really_ happening. My mind became fogged and the night's events distorted, slowly draining from my mind, and I was _present_ in the way that something had stopped up reality around me like a plug to a drain or a wall to a dam. I knew it couldn't last, but for now, logic was the farthest thing from my mind. "I've only done it two other times. The first time…" I reached down and began to rub my hands together distractedly. "The first time I did it I was with… Danny." I sighed.

"You smoked with Danny!?" Stiles exclaimed. I laughed at the shrill tone of his voice and peered over at him, grinning lazily.

"Yeah, man." I looked down at my hands, marveling at the way the lines in my palms were moving as I wiggled my fingers. "He's really funny. And… the last time, Scott and I smoked."

Stiles gasped sharply and reached over to smack my shoulder, startling me and making me sit upright. Something in the back of my mind whispered, and I watched him with wide eyes as he began to freak out. "Scott _smoked_ with you!?" He exclaimed, his voice breaking. "When! When, when was this!?"

"Uhhh," I looked down at the lights from his radio and reached out to turn it down as I tried to recall. "It was _so_ bad. We thought mom would figure us out for _sure_ , but we told her we were going to get Burger King, and we actually went over to the woods and smoked. It was… a while ago. The beginning of summer, I think, it was right after I got that letter."

"The beginning of summer!" Stiles scoffed and shook his head, staring out the window.

"Uh oh," I quietly said, peeking at him through my lashes. Stiles glanced down at me and did a double take. "You're mad, aren't you?" He blinked, looking between me and the road. "Awww, Stiles," I reached out to pat his knee. I tried to be soothing and relax him, wanting to bring him down to the level I was at. But not for me, for _him_. "You look like you're about to blow a gasket." I sighed again. "Worrying is _exhausting,_ man. You need to _relax_ ," I said, gripping his knee and giving it a good shake.

"Okay," He uncomfortably ground out, lifting my hand off his leg and putting it on the center console, patting my wrist. "You're high."

"And _you're_ mad," I smiled, petting his jacket. "And your jacket is _shiny_ , why is it—it's sparking—whoa—don't that again!"

"What? Audrey—stop that!" He tried to shrink away, and I gasped and scrambled back.

"Stiles!" I whined, watching as the spot just behind his shoulder sparked again. "Stop it!"

"Stop what?" He cried, trying to drive, look at me, and also see what I was freaking out about over his shoulder. "What am I doing?"

"Your shoulder is sparking! Cut it out!"

"I don't know! Audrey, calm down!"

I sputtered out a cry, pushing at his shoulder as my heart hammered in my chest and panic laced through me because that shouldn't be possible. "Stiles, _stop!"_

"Okay, okay! Look!" He pulled the jeep to a stop and made a show of taking his jacket off, one sleeve at a time. His movements were slow and exaggerated, and he held the jacket out for me to see once it was completely off. "Look, there. See?"

I blinked and watched through hooded eyes from where I was balled in the corner. My heart slowed and I felt my lips tug at the corners as he carefully tossed his jacket into the back seat. "Whoa…" I giggled. "I was tripping pretty hard, huh?"

He smirked and snorted out a laugh. "Um, _yeah_." He paused and watched me for a moment. I sighed and uncurled from my protective ball, stretching my legs out again. "You good?"

"Yeah, I…" I ran my hand down my jeans and sighed, forgetting what I was about to say. "Anyways… Scott got high with me last time."

"Yeah, you mentioned that."

"So you sure you don't wanna?"

"After _that_? No."

"Oh, don't worry," I waved him off. "That's just me tripping out. Happens." He raised his eyebrows pointedly at me, as if to say _exactly_. "But hardly ever."

"What letter?" He suddenly asked. My eyes went wide again and I reached out to push his arm.

"Who told you about that!"

" _You_ did," He frowned. "You said you and Scott got high at the beginning of summer, right after you got a letter."

I blinked slowly, my eyes squinting at him. " _I_ said that?" He nodded and I looked away. "Well it was from my dad, so don't tell Scott."

"It was from your _dad_?" Stiles gawped loudly, and I hissed at him to shut up, clamping my hand over his mouth.

"Scott will _hear_ you!" It didn't occur to me that we were nowhere near my house.

"Why won't you tell him?" He asked, clearly judging me pretty hard. His voice was muffled from my hand.

"Because—he won't like it." I slurred, slumping over in my seat. "I was afraid to tell him because I thought he'd get upset, and now it's been so long… he'll be mad. I don't want him to be mad at me, Stiles. So don't say anything, okay? Promise me."

Stiles blinked and looked out the windshield.

" _Promise_ me!" I took his knee again and stared at him like I was asking the most important thing in the world, and Stiles frowned at me for a moment before finally agreeing.

"Okay. I promise I won't tell Scott."

* * *

I sat at the kitchen table, stuffing my face full of pizza. The back door opened and I looked up, a huge smile on my face as Scott walked in.

"Dude, you're _soaked_ ," I observed, taking in the sight of his dripping hoodie. His hand was up and clutching his hip, and he frowned at me as he pushed his hood off his head.

"Audrey? You're okay!" Scott rushed towards me, swallowing me in a damp bear hug. My hands were squished to my chest and I think the pizza might've gotten all over my shirt, but I ignored that as I breathed out a giddy laugh. "Oh my god, what happened? Tell me everything! Where've you been!?"

"I went for a jog like you said," I began as he pulled away, looking down at the pizza that had been smushed into my shirt. I wrinkled my nose and peeled it away. Thankfully, it was just cheese. No toppings. "Buuut, then I found a half a dead chick, so I smoked with Stiles and he dropped me off and I found this _awesome_ pizza—" Scott took me by the shoulders and made me face him head on. I struggled to focus on his face, my head swimming and hearing fading in and out as I stared at his dripping hair.

His questions came in rapid succession, like he was flashing a strobe light at me. "You saw the body?! You saw Stiles? Is he in trouble? You _smoked_ with Stiles? Are you _high_ right now? Are you okay?"

I blinked sluggishly, breathing out an uncharacteristically relaxed chuckle. "….Yeah… what?"

Scott sighed and pulled me back in for a hug, and murmured something about just being glad that I'm alive. I reached up to curl my arms around him and laid my head on his shoulder.

"You stink." I noted, and he sighed.

"So do you. You smell like weed and sweat." He pulled away and winced, touching his hip again.

I laughed at that and nodded. "Oh, yeah! Stiles wouldn't smoke, though… You good?" I gestured to his hip and Scott shook his head.

"No, something bit me."

"What? _Whoa!_ When?" I reached for his hip, but he batted my hand away, and I blinked rapidly at his reflexes. "Trippy…"

He pulled his shirt up to reveal a huge, angry circle of gnarled flesh.

"Ohhhh," I drawled, disgust lacing my voice. "That's _nasty_!"

"You're so high right now," Scott smirked.

"To be honest, none of this feels real. Like, it feels… like a _dream_." I laughed, and Scott's smirk deepened as his amusement grew. "Like, is Stiles' dad a cop? … Is Stiles his real name? Did his mom _name_ him that? Should mom look at that when she gets home? Was I in the woods tonight? Did that _really_ happen?"

These questions might seem like they came rapidly like Scott's did, but they were actually sluggish. It took me a while to get them all out of my mouth coherently, and Scott seemed very distracted; so distracted that he was barely listening.

"Yes to all," Scott sighed, standing up from a chair I hadn't noticed he was sitting in. "Except the part about our mom. She can't know I was out tonight, she told us to stay home… and I gotta go bandage this." He said, moving towards the bathroom.

"'Kay…" I took the pizza in my hands and took a huge bite, when something occurred to me. "Hey, do you need help?" I asked, but he had already disappeared. I snorted and looked back down at my pizza, a lazy smile on my face. "Trippy."

* * *

 ** _A/N: Hi, everyone! So, Audrey is my OC... She's Scott's sister - and - I know what you're thinking..._ no _. She's not a stoner. I just wanted to add an extra dimension to our Beacon Hills cast by pointing out that there are still tons of normal issues that the teens could have. Like weird divorced parent drama, and smoking weed, and munchies and stuff. XD lol... but don't worry, it's not going to be a regular occurrence. Audrey will basically be the character who will serve as the mouthpiece I use to say the things we wished we could've said in season one. It'll be fun! I have like, sixty pages already... so there's plenty more where this came from, if you're interested to read more... I may go ahead and post a few more chapters._**

 ** _Questions? Leave a review and I'll answer!_**


	3. Chapter 2

_**(This isn't a repeat, I had to bump some chapters around to add in the prologue!)**_

 _ **Yeah, here we go! Second chapter, as promised. :) Thanks to the response! I wasn't expecting so many people to respond so quickly... shout out to the first reviewer,**_ We're All M-M-Mad Here _ **. I'll do a review response at the end, to kick us off. I'll do one for every chapter so everyone can see them, especially since guest reviews make it tough since I can't PM you guests... anyways, sorry for the rambling...**_

* * *

The next morning was strange. I could only remember pieces of what happened, and everything was so bizarre that I had to pepper Scott with questions to decipher what was real and what I'd dreamed. I think getting high made the whole _I found the severed carcass of a teenager in the woods last night_ significantly easier to cope with. It feels like I watched it in a movie, or read it somewhere. It's like it didn't actually happen.

The thing you need to know about weed is how drastically more _safe_ it is than hard drugs or alcohol. I felt fine the next morning, and after a long hot shower, you could never know by looking at me that anything had happened. Nothing short of a drug test would let on that anything had happened at all. I have no idea why it's illegal, but the weed served its purpose. I feel better about everything that happened, and I'm ready to focus on what's important. I won't be doing that again for a while though. No matter what I say to justify it, it's still illegal, and even if it _was_ legal, I'd still probably be too young to have had it in the first place. So while it did wonders to help my nerves and soothe my mind, it's still not exactly moral.

Which brings me to mom. Somehow, the police didn't call her. Maybe the Sheriff assumed I would tell her, and he knew I got home safely so he wasn't worried… I have no explanation for why she hasn't been contacted, but Scott seems to think it would be best not to tell her. No sense in worrying her, and we're all alright… So what's the point? She'd just freak out. Also, Scott's wound is really weird, but it looks like it's healing nicely. I helped him change the bandages this morning and he's taken good care of it so far, so _somehow,_ he was able to convince me not to tell mom about _that_ either.

"We gotta find a new mode of transportation," I whined, hopping off the back of Scott's bike.

"I know, but if we pool our money together maybe we can get a car soon."

"I barely put any hours in at the animal clinic," I dismissed, waving my hand. "I make just enough to cover my cellphone bill."

"Yeah?" Scott said as he chained up his bike. "Well here's an idea: why don't you put in _more_ hours?" I scoffed, but before I could retort he continued. "You know Dr. Deaton is always saying we need more hands."

"Animals hate me," I noted.

"Well it _can't_ be your cheerful smile," Stiles quipped, approaching us from the side. He and my brother waved and exchanged a brief greeting as I turned to him and plastered on an exaggerated smile.

"Aw, Stiles!" I cooed, and his face tightened with reluctance at my tone. "Look who's wearing the shirt I got him!" I reached out and pretended to pinch his cheek, and he ducked out of my reach and batted at my hand.

"It wasn't on purpose," He grumbled, looking down to zip his jacket up as Scott and I laughed at him. "You exploited my love for Captain America!"

"Yeah, _exploited_ ," I rolled my eyes at Scott. "Exploited via _birthday gift_." I reached out and nudged his shoulder. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Do I have to thank you _every time_ I wear it?" He shrugged sarcastically.

I crossed my arms. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Evil," Stiles pointed at me and looked at Scott. "She's the spawn of Satan, I'm telling you."

"I swear to God, you two fight more than we do," Scott said, sending me a dry smirk.

"Careful, Scott, you used the Lord's good name around her. She might bite."

"It's because our personalities clash." I innocently observed, lifting my backpack higher on my shoulders.

We began to make our way towards the school, the students filing around us as they emerged from buses and cars alike.

I suddenly groaned, throwing my head back in exasperation.

"What's wrong?" Scott asked, and I sighed dramatically.

"I already _hate_ my classes!" Stiles commented about how I hadn't even _been_ to one yet, a comment which I promptly ignored. "I'm so sick of being a year behind you two! Everyone in my class _sucks_ and I'm friends with your friends anyways."

"Hey, hope you're not talking about me?" Stiles jibed, digging through his bag. "We're not friends."

"Then give me that shirt back," I commanded, turning to grab at the zipper of his hoodie.

"Hey, back off!" Stiles cried, nearly dropping his bag.

"Take it back!"

"You guys," Scott groaned, glancing around in embarrassment.

"No!"

"Then give me your shirt!"

" _N_ o!"

"Cut it out!" Scott whisper-yelled, smiling innocently at people as they stared.

"Sorry," we chorused, giving each other dirty looks. Scott rolled his eyes and turned towards the school.

"So what happened last night?" Stiles asked, digging through his bag and taking out a schedule.

"Well, after your dad caught us and dragged you away, things got… weird."

"Weird?"

"Yeah, like first I was caught in a stampede of deer."

"Whoa, a _stampede_?" I smartly commented, pondering this new bit of information. "Sounds like the scene from the Lion King."

"Then what happened?" Stiles asked as if I'd never spoken. I stuck my tongue out at him and he pretended not to notice.

"Then… Well…" Scott pulled Stiles to a stop, lowering his voice. "Something else happened. Something… weirder."

"Yeah, he saw a _wolf_ ," I supplied, nodding helpfully at Stiles, who gave me an unimpressed glare.

"Ha, ha, you two. Very funny. Now _seriously_ , what really happened?"

"No, really!" Scott insisted, wiping the annoyed look from Stiles' face. Stiles frowned at his sincerity, glancing briefly at me before focusing on his friend.

"You… saw a wolf? In Beacon Hills?"

"Yeah! It howled and everything." Scott insisted.

Stiles smirked and shook his head. "No, you didn't."

Scott looked at me, surprised. I shrugged and he looked back at Stiles. "Yes… I did."

"No, that's not _possible_." Stiles snorted. "There haven't been wolves in California for like… sixty years!"

"Oh, and you're an authority on the subject?" I sneered, and Stiles narrowed his eyes at me.

"Everyone knows that."

"Oh, _everyone_ knows?"

"Stop asking questions like that!"

"Then _you_ stop saying stupid stuff!"

"Your brother is saying he saw a wolf in Beacon Hills, and _I'm_ saying stupid stuff?"

"Yeah!"

"That's not all." Scott said. "There's more."

"Oh, this'll be good—"

"Something _bit_ me." Scott said lowly, leaning closely to Stiles so he could see how serious it was.

Stiles stared blankly at my brother for a minute, until finally he said, "Was it Bigfoot?"

"Okay," I threw my hands up and walked away, Stiles watching as Scott reached out to grab my arm.

"No! It was a wolf, Stiles! And I can prove it, look!"

Stiles cackled out a disbelieving laugh, and I crossed my arms in annoyance. To be honest, I really wanted to smack this guy… I watched as Stiles shook his head and smirked at me, until Scott lifted his shirt and showed him the massive bandage taped to his hip. A little bit of blood had seeped through the white square, and Stiles' laughter abruptly cut out as he took in the sight.

"Whoa… Hey, that looks pretty bad," He frowned, glancing between the wound and my brother. He took a step forward. "So you're serious? Something bit you?"

"A _wolf_ ," I clarified with a nod, winking at Stiles when he threw me a flat look. He rolled his eyes and looked back at Scott.

"Okay, be serious, man. What happened?"

Scott sighed and shook his head; relieved Stile was finally taking this seriously. "I don't know, it was pretty dark out… but I'm _pretty sure_ it was a wolf."

"It was probably just a rabid dog," Stiles shrugged. "You work with animals, Scott, come on!"

"Yeah, but it _howled_."

Stiles stared at him, his face blank as if waiting for him to make a point. A few moments passed before he finally blinked. "Oh, you're being serious? Dude! Dogs can howl!"

"Not like _this!_ "

"All right, whatever," Stiles said, waving dismissively. "But if you start foaming at the mouth, I'm shooting you in the head."

"No you're not." I dismissed, and Stiles raised his eyebrows at me challengingly.

"They call me One-Shot-Stilinski in this county," He teased, pulling on the strap of his backpack. I threw my head back and laughed, rolling my eyes as I waved him off.

"Whatever, Stiles, you've never shot a gun in your life!"

"Maybe this is the year I finally will." Stiles put his hands out as we ascended the steps to school. "Huh? I'm feeling pretty good about this year, I'm telling you!" We stepped into the hallway and paused to take in the bustle of the first day. "This is our year." He said, looking between us. "This is when everything changes."

Little did we know how right he was.

"Hey," I chirped, poking Scott's shoulder. "Maybe this is the year you make first string!"

"Yeah, and maybe this is the year Lydia Martin will finally go on a date with me," Stiles sighed, a dreamy smile on his face as we made our way down the hall.

I raised my eyebrow at where she stood, Jackson practically feeling her up at their locker. She smiled at him and giggled, and he smirked back at her. I sent a dry look to Stiles. "Well, _first_ she has to notice you."

"Notice me?" Stiles snorted. "She's noticed me before!"

"Oh yeah?" Scott and I chorused, and we smirked at each other. "When was this?" I continued.

"Lots of times!" He dodged, pretending not to see my insistent stare. We stopped at Scott and I's locker, and Stiles glanced back at Lydia before replying. "Oh, there was the time at lunch!"

"When she asked you to move so she could get some fruit?" Scott grinned, and I snorted.

Stiles grumbled at him and looked away, thinking hard. "…Or that time at lacrosse! That was legit," He pointed at me for emphasis. "She even called me by my name."

"She called you Stilinski because she read the name on your jersey," I smirked, and he opened his mouth, but I barreled over him. " _And_ it was to tell you to scoot over so she could get a picture of Jackson in his uniform."

"All right, well maybe not _recently_ , but Lydia and I have a connection that's deeper than social interaction."

"Oh my god, I think I just threw up a little…" I turned wide eyes to Scott. "He's delusional!"

"You're just jealous because you don't have what _we_ have."

I laughed a little too forcefully, drawing a bewildered look from Scott. "You mean I don't _pine_ pathetically over someone who would never notice me? Ha!" I waved him off and scratched the back of my head. "That's right!"

" _All right_ , I've had enough naysaying for one morning," Stiles backed away with his hands up. "I'm going to go cleanse myself of your poisonous words."

"Is that what the kids call it these days?" I mockingly frowned as if contemplating the idea. He rolled his eyes at me and turned to walk down the hall to his locker. I shook my head and began to spin the combination into my own locker, sighing heavily. "Why couldn't I have just skipped a grade?"

"You gonna tell me what the hell _that_ was about?" Scott suddenly asked, and I turned to see him watching me with his arms crossed and a knowing look on his face.

"What?" I asked, squirming slightly under his relentless stare. I scoffed and shrugged. " _What?_ Scott, I was joking—but also, I was serious. The day that Lydia Martin goes on a date with him is the day that I finally get my crush to notice me."

"Oh yeah?" Scott challenged, leaning forward. "And who's your crush?"

I snorted. "Scott, that situation was hypothetical. I don't _have_ a crush." His eyes narrowed. "If I had a crush, you'd know. Come on."

"Would I?" He asked, his head tilted. "Because, depending on _who it is_ , I might be able to understand why you'd be a little hesitant to speak up."

"Scott!" I shifted uncomfortably. "There's no one! All right? Can you drop it, please?"

"I mean—you're my sister, Audrey." Scott took a deep breath and shuddered. "And the bro-code says there are certain _lines_ that bros can't cross. You get what I mean?"

I stared at him with my face scrunched in disbelief and disgust. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying… I love you, but just… _I don't think so._ " He shuddered again. "I mean, _no_."

"Okay, I'm done with this conversation," I declared, throwing my backpack into my locker and slamming it shut. "Maybe when I see you at tryouts you'll have pulled the stick out of your ass."

And with that, I stomped away down the hall.

* * *

The rest of the day passed agonizingly slow. I was actually still really annoyed by that weird freak out Scott had this morning. I mean, I'm keeping a _lot_ of secrets for him. I'm keeping the letter a secret—because I don't want to mess shit up with our family. I'm keeping the fact that he was bitten last night a secret—because I don't want _him_ to get into trouble! Let me explain how it would go down if I told mom about last night.

See, we've already waited too long to tell her now anyways. If I had told her this morning, that'd be one thing. In fact, Scott wouldn't have even been in trouble for sneaking out with Stiles! Mom would probably _commend_ them for it, given the circumstances. She might be a little upset by the fact that he didn't call her, but overall, she'd be so relieved that we're both okay that she'd be willing to overlook it.

Alas, that's not how we've chosen to handle the situation. We _lied_ to her this morning. Now, not only would she be pissed that I kept something like this from her, she would be livid that Scott was actually _injured_ and didn't tell her. I mean—to add insult to injury, mom's a nurse. Wounds are what she _does!_ It would just be a giant shit storm at this point, and to be honest I'd rather have told her anyways. So this is yet another web of lies I'm tiptoeing around for him.

That doesn't even delve into all the other times I've covered for him. So why is he treating me that way? I'm not saying I do—but even if I _did_ have some sort of really weird crush on his best friend, who is _he_ to tell me what to do? Who is he to judge me for developing feelings for Stiles? I mean, _I haven't_ —obviously—but if I had it certainly wouldn't be my choice! I mean, who's the one who brings him around all the time? _Scott!_ Who's the one who's been _pushing_ him on me from day one? _Scott!_ Did I ask to constantly be surrounded by a guy who I'm not related to in the midst of puberty? No! Did I ask for him to be interested in cool stuff like me? Did I ask for him to like comics and pokemon, and not to judge me because I'm a _girl_ who likes those things? Absolutely not! And _so what_ if he does nice things for me when he's not busy being an asshole? So _what_ if he wears the shirts I buy him and lets me smoke near him, and keeps my secrets from his _best_ _friend_ because I _ask_ him to? That doesn't mean I like him!

Because I definitely do _not_ like Stiles Stilinski.

Ugh. _Please_.

So, yeah, I'm a little pissed at Scott right now. Because he has _some_ nerve telling me who I can and cannot have feelings for…

The air was a little chilled this afternoon. Classes were over for the day, and I was perched on the bleachers at lacrosse try outs. I mean, honestly, just because I'm annoyed with Scott doesn't erase all the time I've invested in helping him prepare for this moment.

I want him to make first string almost as bad as he does. I've put a lot of effort into this too! No _way_ would I miss it. The turn out was pretty good, actually. There are several guys who showed up for practice—several contenders, but also a healthy number of scrawny freshmen who definitely aren't making the cut. This is good because it means Scott has a greater chance of standing out.

My knee bounced against the metal of the stands as I waited for them to emerge from the locker room. I watched as coach spewed some weird-coachy-aggressive-bullshit to the athletes. Finstock is _weird_ , I tell ya…

Lydia was droning on to an unfamiliar brunette about all the times Jackson had _led the team to victory_. I swear to god, it's like Lydia reads from a cheesy chick-flick script when she opens her mouth. Stiles claims that she has these rare, dazzling moments of insight, but _I_ for one have never seen this actually happen. So it's really just myth at this point. I'm pretty sure he's just into her because she _developed_ faster than any other girl in his grade.

But hey! Maybe I'm judging her too harshly. You never know. I'd like to think that Stiles has better taste than that. I'd like to think he wasn't so shallow. But, well… the evidence speaks for itself.

"—But if you play, who am I gonna talk to on the bench?!" Stiles asked breathlessly, and I swiveled to see my brother and him running up the hill. They were a little late for practice. Most of the players were already on the field. "Are you really gonna do that to your best friend?"

"Oh, wow," I grinned fakely at them as I made my way down the bleachers. "That's so sweet of you, Stiles!" Scott smirked as Stiles scowled at me. " _Guilt tripping!_ Yeah, you're being a great friend."

"Hey, you can't be on the field!" Stiles pointed down at the white line that stood out in the yellow, dead grass. I looked up at him pointedly as I took a single step back, so that I was behind the line.

"And you better take that feeling in, Stiles." I smiled sweetly at him and tilted my head patronizingly. "You won't be on the field for long."

His shoulders stiffened and he took a step forward, but Coach suddenly came over to throw a goalie stick at Scott. He fumbled to catch it. "McCall!" Coach squawked, his hands on his hips and a frown on his face. "You're in goal."

Stiles and I exchanged a wide-eyed look of horror. "But—I've never played goal before!" Scott panicked, glancing back at me. We'd practiced everything _but_ goal this summer. It never occurred to us that Coach might try to put him there. After all, he'd never done it before! "I'll get creamed!"

"Exactly," Coach grinned. "You'll give the team the confidence boost they need to start the season off."

My protective streak of my brother reared its head and I stepped forward, but Stiles put his hand on my shoulder and held me back. "Audrey—don't—" he tried, but I was determined.

"No, never mind that twat!" I said loudly to my brother as Coach turned to swagger off. He turned back, his eyebrows raised boldly—as if to dare me to finish my thought. "You'll do fine! It's easy, right? Just catch the balls!"

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Coach asked, and Scott and Stiles both took a step back, dread painting their face.

"Um, just catch the balls?"

"Nope, before that." He said, winding his finger around as if to rewind me. He crept closer, his face dripping with anger.

"It's easy."

" _No_ ," Coach growled. "Before _you'll do fine._ What was that word you used to describe me?"

"I said—"

"You know what! On second thought, I think _one_ McCall is on the field is enough. It'll get too confusing otherwise—"

"What?" Stiles, Scott and I collectively cried.

"No! Come on, Coach, it's not like you haven't said worse about students before!"

Apparently that was the _way_ wrong thing to say, however true it may be. I was promptly kicked off the field with a warning and a detention.

* * *

So here I am, waiting in the parking lot—waiting for the boys to return. _Unbelievable_. I left when I couldn't stand to listening to the cheers anymore. Not five minutes after I'd been kicked out, the cheering started. It was _loud_ , and impossible to ignore, and driving me _mad!_ I went ahead and ordered Scott's favorite food—the smorgasbord from Jerry's Pizza Grinder—and borrowed the bike to pick it up. Plus, I figure when he crashes and burns like the Hindenburg, he'll need something to cheer him up.

I'd been grumbling to myself for the last fifteen minutes, perched on the hood of Stiles' jeep. A box of miniature cinnamon buns was propped open, and I had picked through two or three of them already.

"Stupid Finstock. Stupid lacrosse. Stupid hypocrisy. Stupid _Finstock_!" I grumbled moodily, looking up just as Stiles came bounding towards the jeep. He was out of breath and freshly showered, and I held my cinnamon bun up to him. "It's fine, don't worry. I've got the good stuff."

"No—" Stiles breathlessly shook his head, bent over at the knee to claw at an apparent stitch in his side. "No—you don't understand. You should've _seen_ him!"

"That bad?" I winced, setting the cinnamon roll down and closing the box. Somehow, I managed not to groan when I licked the rest of the amazing cream-cheese and cinnamon icing off my fingers, struggling to focus on Stiles' frantic … whatever it is he's doing.

"No! He was—flipping it over his shoulder, and jumping and swiping—"

Setting the box down next to the rest of the food on the hood, I let out a groan. " _That_ bad?"

" _No!"_ Stiles grabbed my shoulders and shook me. "Aren't you listening? He's _good!_ "

"Oh, okay," I scoffed, prying his hands off me. "Be serious. I just spent forty dollars on food for him, I'm not in the mood—"

"No— _Audrey!"_ Stiles fixed me with a serious stare, lowering his voice. "He's _amazing_!"

I gawped at him, no words coming to mind as I stared back at his sincerely gob smacked face. You can't fake gob smack like that, you just can't! "Holy crap," I muttered, and Stiles nodded frantically.

" _I know!"_

"How did this happen?" I slid off the hood so it was easier to talk to Stiles, and we huddled like we were discussing top-secret information.

"I—have no idea!"

"So what do we do?"

"I was thinking—"

"Guys!" Scott chirped from behind us, sending us flying three feet into the air. Scott looked at each of us with his eyebrows raised, and from the way they lingered on me a little _too_ knowingly, I could tell immediately that he'd gotten the wrong impression. "What's going on?"

"What's going on?" Stiles started, as if Scott should know the answer already. " _What's going on?_ I'll tell you—"

"You kicked ass!" I barreled over to my brother and launched myself at him, squealing the whole time. It did the trick. Scott couldn't help but break into laughter at my contagious excitement—however genuine it may really be—and I wrapped my arm around the top of his head, forcing him below my height so I could plant a loud kiss on the top of his head. "I'm so proud!" I wiped a fake tear from the corner of my eye, stepping away from my brother to give Stiles a subtle warning look. _Later_ , it said. Stiles caught on and hesitantly lifted his victory fists, letting out a cracking triumphant whoop. I joined in and as he gained more confidence, Scott joined suit, and before we knew it we were loading up into the jeep and on our way.

* * *

"Pass a garlic knot!" Stiles barked from the driver's seat as he drove, and I took one out of the box. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I told him to keep his eyes on the road so I didn't die violently in a car crash _just_ so he could have a damn garlic knot. I passed the salty pastry over to him, and then quieted so we could let Scott continue to talk about how amazing it was to be _good_ for a change.

"I'm telling you guys, this year is gonna be different. Did you see the look on Finstock's face when I caught Jackson's ball?"

"Did you see the look on _Lydia's_ face?"

"Oh no, was she broken because someone showed up her baby?" I snorted, taking a large bite out a garlic knot.

"No, she was cheering!" Scott said.

"Yeah, _dude_ , you gotta cut that out."

"Cut what out?"

"She was cheering for you! She's mine, dude, _bro code_."

"Bro code?" I sneered.

"Bro code doesn't apply when it hinders a bro's success on the field," Scott recited around a mouthful of pizza.

"What?" Stiles snorted, glancing between Scott and the road. "You made that up!"

"It sounds reasonable to me," I shrugged, winking at Scott when he threw me a thankful wave of his hand as we both ignored Stiles sputtering.

"But she's starting to notice you!"

"What am I supposed to do? I can't help it! I'm _good_ , and she's…"

"Shallow." I supplied, winking at Stiles this time as he threw me a venomous glare.

"She most certainly is _not_!" He indignantly huffed, and I let out a loud laugh.

"Oh, come on! She didn't even know Scott's _name_ before he suddenly knew how to handle a lacrosse stick."

"So, she was momentarily dazzled by his suddenly-stunning-skills." Stiles shrugged dismissively. "Everyone was! That doesn't mean she's gonna try to _date_ him, I mean—" He snorted a little too roughly, and I glanced warily at Scott. "C'mon. You're still Scott."

My brother actually didn't seem to take offense to this turn of conversation at all, a fact which I chose to ignore. If Scott wouldn't get ruffled by that obvious insult his best friend just threw his way, fine. I would. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Stiles' mouth guppied as he looked back at Scott and me to shrug innocently. "Oh, I don't know, I mean… You know. It's _Scott_!"

"No, I don't know. Tell us." Scott was sitting quietly by while Stiles floundered, apparently trying to find the words to justify how intensely rude what he just said was. But there's no justifying it; it's _rude_. "Just because you're jealous doesn't make it okay to insult your best friend! He would never do that to you. So you can get bent, Stiles, because Scott is _not_ interested in a _girl_! He's just trying to make the team! He wasn't playing that way to impress some chick. He was trying to impress _Finstock_. Right, Scott?"

"Uh," Scott hesitated, his voice strangely uncertain. I had no idea, and he would never tell me this, but he was actually trying to impress Allison today, too. "…Yeah, right. I just wanna make the team, dude—seriously. Lydia is all yours."

My eyes were narrowed as Stiles pulled up to the same parking lot in the woods from last night. He and Scott kissed and made up—and by that I mean Stiles reached over to shove Scott's head and Scott punched Stiles' shoulder—and with that, we climbed into the cooling evening air.

Scott, the genius that he is, lost his inhaler. We were going to search the woods high and low until we found the damn thing, because Scott _needs_ that inhaler, and if we tell mom he lost it we'd have to tell her what happened. Or, I suppose he could lie and say he didn't remember, but to be honest we probably couldn't afford to replace this one. It's basically brand new; he just got it at the beginning of this month.

Scott led the way into the woods, heading towards where he claims to remember having dropped it. I'm skeptical, because how can you remember where you dropped something in the middle of the night, in the middle of the woods, in the middle of a _stampede_ , right after seeing a _dead body_?

But whatever. It's as good a place to start as anywhere…

"So, let's refocus. What's with the sudden ninja skills? You were faster than anyone on the field today!"

"Well, we trained a lot over summer…" I supplied weakly. The truth is, we did train a lot. Like, _a lot_. But Scott never got… great. He managed to hit a few of the balls into the net, and that was a massive breakthrough. By no stretch of the imagination had he become… well, legendary. He was good enough to possibly make the team, and depending on the competition, first string. But that's all. And we all knew it.

As for owning Jackson? That's a bit of a stretch. "With who, Jim Thorpe?" Stiles cried. Scott laughed and I scrunched my face.

"Who?"

They both abruptly stopped laughing and sent me disappointed looks. "The point is," Stiles continued, "You're more than good, dude. You're like… as good as Jackson, and that's something that can't happen overnight, or even over a single summer of training with Ms. _Who's-Jim-Thorpe_ over here."

"Seriously, who is he?!"

"That's not all I can suddenly do," Scott said. We moved through a stream, Scott lamely trying to avoid the water by stepping onto a thin branch that was caught between the rocks. Of course as soon as he stepped onto it, it snapped in half, and as per usual Stiles followed blindly behind him. Basically, the end result was both of them having soaked feet and damp ankles.

I, however, stepped across large rocks, and hopped onto the bank completely dry. I might've slipped on the slick minerals a few times—but that's not important. What's important is _I'm_ dry and _they're_ soaked, so, ha!

I stuck my tongue out at the two boys who were sending me annoyed expressions, and Scott finally elaborated.

"I mean, I can smell and hear things better than ever before," He explained, and although that seems like something that someone would be excited to share, he sounded a little dejected and almost afraid. I guess _wary_ is the right word.

"Were you recently bit by a radioactive spider?" I teased as he led the trek onward and deeper into the trees.

"Not a spider," Stiles reminded, his finger in the air. "A _wolf_ , with glowing red eyes."

"Oh, right, silly me," I waved, causing Stiles to snicker and Scott to all but stomp his foot.

"Guys! I'm serious, I think that bite did something to me!"

"Oh, you know what?" Stiles suddenly said, holding his hand out to stop us. His expression turned grim. "I think I've heard of this before."

"What? What is it?" Scott asked, glancing back at me where I stood slightly behind him. I frowned, only slightly concerned because Stiles is usually a jackass when he acts like this.

"It's pretty serious. I think it's called… lycanthropy."

I frowned slightly and looked away, running the term over and over in my mind, trying to figure out how to spell it and if I'd heard of it before, and Stiles' eyes flickered back to me. Scott leaned in as if he was just diagnosed with cancer. "What's that? Is it serious?"

Suddenly, my Harry-Potter nerdage kicked in as I made the connection to Remus Lupin. "Oh, _Stiles!"_ I scolded, my face twisted into a full-on scowl. "Come on, don't be a dick!"

"Guys, what is it?" Scott pressed, glancing between us as Stiles struggled not to laugh.

Stiles threw a defensive hand out and gestured to Scott. "Well, come on! Can you blame me? Are you hearing this? Scott, you're acting like you're some sort of superhero now."

"I'm just being _honest_ ," Scott exclaimed, apparently finally getting angry. "I'm not joking, guys! It's starting to freak me out!"

"Okay, okay," I soothed, shooting Stiles a dirty look. He returned it with a sneer, but lightened up nonetheless. He might be skeptical and toe the line, but he never crosses it with Scott, and at the end of the day I know he's worried about him, too. I sighed and put my hand on Scott's shoulder. "So if you could just sniff out your inhaler, we can go—"

I laughed manically and dodged his fist as he tried to punch my shoulder, and I put my hands up. "Joking! I'm only joking," I giggled, and Stiles was biting back his own laughter as Scott took off. He stomped away from us and I choked back another snort as I chased after him. "Scott, wait! I'm sorry… okay, okay, you can see and hear things and your reflexes are ninja-status. What else?"

Scott sighed and shook his head, still clearly annoyed with us for messing with him. "I don't know, it's weird. Like, I can smell the cinnamon buns you ate." I had actually finished the entire box of cinnamon buns with Stiles, so Scott didn't even know they'd been purchased, and I feigned ignorance for about two seconds before shrugging.

"Cinnamon buns—what cinna—" I shrugged and nodded my head. "Alright, yeah, there were cinnamon buns and I ate them. So what? I can smell the garlic knots on your stinky breath," I joked, shoving his shoulder.

"Okay, bad example," Scott yielded, pausing to sniff the air. Yeah, you read that right—he _sniffed._ The _air_.

I rolled my eyes and put a hand up to Scott, "Oh, my gosh, dude, come on. Be serious."

"You do smell like cinnamon buns, but you also smell like… blood. Did you cut yourself shaving or something?"

Stiles and I rolled to a stop, fixing Scott with identical looks of horror and disgust. "Dude…" Stiles said, and I glanced away, shifting uncomfortably.

"Um… Yeah, actually, I cut my ankle this morning in the shower." I hesitated, leaning down to show them the fresh wound. "You can _smell_ that?" I shuddered, peeking up at them from where Scott looked sheepish and Stiles still looked slightly traumatized.

"Maybe werewolf is the wrong thing. Maybe it's vampire." Stiles dryly quipped, his nose scrunched as he shook his head. "What about me? Do I have anything weird?"

Scott shrugged and turned to continue walking. "I dunno man, I'm not sniffing you."

"Come on!" Stiles whined, throwing his hands out. "Smell me, Scott!" He scrambled after him, lifting his wrist to his friend's nose and trying to follow him when he ducked away. "Scott, why won't you just _smell_ me? Smell me!"

"Stiles, _get off_ —when did you switch to Old Spice?" He paused and frowned, sniffing again. "And since when do you use hair gel?"

Stiles and I stared silently at Scott, Stiles' face oddly triumphant, and my face contracted with a mixture of disgust, disbelief, and confusion.

" _Dude_ …" I said ."I don't even know where to start." I glanced at Stiles, who seemed just as disturbed as me. "I mean, one, Stiles doesn't have enough hair to use gel—"

"Well, now, wait a minute—" Stiles scoffed, but I ignored him.

"Two, why do you know what sort of _deodorant_ he uses? I swear, you two are creepy-close—"

"Oh, please," Scott snorted. "I know that _you_ use Dove, but does that make us creepy-close?"

"No, that makes us _siblings_." I said.

"Exactly," Stiles winked, his finger in the air. I paused and tried to find it in myself to be annoyed, but that was just too cute. "Scott and I are brothers, so it's only natural for him to know what products I use to make myself socially-appropriate—although, dude, I don't use Old Spice."

"Ugh, you don't use Axe, right?" I groaned, and Stiles sent me a withering look.

"It attracts the ladies."

"Oh, my god, _no_." I shook my head. "That's it. I'm buying you both cologne for the holidays."

"You can't _tell_ us what our gifts are, Audrey." Stiles scolded, looking at me as if I'd stolen a toy from him. "It takes all the fun out of it!"

"Oh, here, tell me mine—"

"Guys, we have a problem," Scott frowned, turning in circles beside us.

"No I will not!" Stiles gasped, practically putting his hand to his heart. "You might enjoy spoiling the season's spirit, but I will not be apart of it!"

"Oh, come on! Last year you got me _socks_. Socks, Stiles! It's not some grand, life-altering surprise!"

" _Guys_ , it's not here!"

"Well it _might've_ been this year," He derisively opposed, leaning in to taunt me like a five-year-old with his nose in the air. "But you'll never know!" I opened my mouth to retort, but he interrupted. "And those were _fuzzy_ socks, which you _told_ me you wanted!"

I pursed my lips and tried to find a point to refute, but he was right. It's what I said I wanted. "Oh…" I grudgingly conceded. "All right, I love those stupid socks." Stiles knowingly nodded, leaning back with his arms crossed. "They're so damn soft!" I continued, and Stiles shrugged as if he to say _I know, isn't it a shame?_ "It's like wearing kittens on my feet! _Kittens_."

Stiles' expression didn't change as he looked down and continued nodding. "…Audrey, that's a little disturbing."

I paused and looked away, humming to myself as I thought over my words. "It was, wasn't it? Well—I don't take it back! I—"

"Guys," Scott suddenly said, his voice flat and serious. We both turned to him and I almost fell flat on my ass in surprise when I saw a man standing creepily out in the woods.

He looked to be close to our age, but older—like, maybe early twenties or so, and he was staring straight at us—just _standing_ there. He wore all black—black leather, black jeans, black boots, black hair. Well, the hair might not have been a choice, but… his feet were shoulder width-apart, as if he'd been standing there for a while, and his hands were at his sides. My heart started racing in my chest as I ran over all the possible scenarios.

 _Would he rob us? Would he murder us? Who would hear? If a tree falls in the woods, does anyone hear? Who would know? Shit, shit shit,_

And then he was stalking towards us, and he looked _pissed._ I quickly ducked behind Scott and held him as a human shield, never taking my eyes from the scowling face of the stranger. "Jesus," I whispered. "Look at him! He's gonna eat us alive! He's gonna cook us and serve us in chili to the townspeople—"

"Audrey, shut up!"

"What're you doing here?" The stranger barked, causing me to jump a bit and step ever so slightly more behind my brother, who glanced uncomfortably at Stiles. "Huh? This is private property!"

"Oh, my god, I feel like we're in preschool being scolded!" I hissed, my nervous babbling completely taking over. Stiles gestured his hand wildly at me, trying to get me to shut up. "He looks constipated. He looks so mad, he's so angry, oh my god,"

"Sorry, man, we didn't know…" Stiles said, his voice strong and slightly annoyed as if wondering why the guy was so pissed to see us there. But, logically, finding three teenagers in your woods after a murder happened _might_ warrant some attitude.

Or, if you're a compassionate soul, it _might_ warrant some—I don't know, concern?

"Yeah—we were looking for something but… never mind." Scott continued, his voice full of sass. I looked at the back of his head with pride, silently impressed with him.

The stranger made that face that screams _really? Are you serious?_ And then stuck his hand into his coat pocket.

"Don't shoot!" I screeched, and he frowned deeper and took a menacing step forward. I gasped loudly and dragged Scott by the elbow towards me. "Let's _go_ ," I frantically cried. I couldn't stop thinking about how empty the woods were, how stupid we were to have come out here without telling someone. How stupid the choices we _continue_ to make are.

Scott put his hand on my arm in comfort, starting to turn away. Stiles kept one eye on the stranger as we all turned away.

And then suddenly, the stranger yanked his hand out of his pocket and tossed something over, and my heart leapt out of my throat and I gasped in horror. Scott's hand flew up to instinctively catch whatever the stranger threw, and I reacted without thinking.

I reached out and smacked the object to the forest floor before he could catch it, and then immediately dragged him three steps back. "Scott!" I screeched. "Are you _serious_? Don't ever, _ever_ do that! He could've thrown anything at us! It could be a gun, or a bomb, people are _crazy_! He's hanging out in the woods," I continued, and Scott couldn't get a word in edgewise as I continued to mercilessly scold him.

"Audrey," Stiles called, and I whipped around to snap at him, but came up short when he held out the inhaler. I frowned and stared at the object, panting slightly.

"…W-Where'd you get that?" I breathed.

Stiles raised his eyebrows and gestured back towards the stranger, who seemed just as disturbed by us as we were by him. Suddenly, I felt _really_ stupid. And really dramatic. My face flamed faster than it had ever in my whole life. I felt like I could melt _his_ face off with the heat radiating from mine, and he wouldn't stop _staring_ at us.

My jaw was locked so tightly I thought my teeth might shatter, and Stiles handed the inhaler over to Scott, glancing briefly at me. The stranger turned and walked away without another word.

Scott and Stiles frowned at each other, and I tugged on the back of Scott's jacket. "Come _on_ ," I pled. "Can we go now?"

When we were back in the jeep, Stiles finally began freaking out. " _Dude,_ do you know who that was?!"

"Who _cares!_ He was creepy as hell! I thought his head was about to spin around and he would start speaking in tongues! He had one of those crazy looks in his eye, like he was the Unabomber or some shit like that—"

"They caught him." Stiles dismissed, and waved me off. "No, no, that was _Derek Hale_."

"They _caught_ the Unabomber!?"

"Yeah, like, twenty years ago—Did you hear me? Derek Hale! His whole family died in a fire ten years ago." He paused to look between us. I tried to imagine that, my whole family dying in a fire… it's unfathomable. "He's only a few years older than us."

I looked over at Scott and felt a surge of affection, A) because we're okay, B) because we found his inhaler, and C) because he didn't burn to death in a fire. I sighed and reached out to ruffle his bushy hair. "Well that was creepy as hell!" I restated, and they both nodded in agreement as Scott ducked out from under my hand and snapped at me to cut it out.

I smirked as Stiles continued. "What the heck was he doing out there?"

"You think it's seriously his property?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's possible."

"But that's where the body was found." I frowned.

They both paused to process this information, and then looked up at each other as if having just solved a very disturbing puzzle.

"No," Stiles said lowly. "No way… It can't be." He shook his head and shook out his hands. "No, that's ridiculous. We didn't just see the murderer. We're just freaked out by him because he caught us and we weren't supposed to be out there."

"Besides, your dad has a lead, right? A suspect?" I supplied, thinking a bit of logic and perspective would help us.

"Yeah, exactly!"

I sighed and sat back in the seat, running a hand over my hair. "Well… at least you got your inhaler."

* * *

 _ **We're All M-M-Mad Here:**_ _ **LOL! So that's one advocate for Audrey being a stoner... XD I agree though, it'd certainly make it interesting. I doubt it's the last time she'll smoke, but it's definitely not gonna be in every chapter. And thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far :) Hopefully you liked the new one!**_

 _ **...Review, please? :) I'll update faster!**_


	4. Chapter 3

I took my reading glasses off and rubbed my eyes, leaning back in my beanbag chair. It was large enough to be used as a desk chair. My mom had gotten it for me two years ago, even though I already had a desk chair. But the beanbag chair is a lot more comfortable, so the desk chair is retired in the corner for if I have company—which is never. Mostly, Scott utilizes it or, currently, it's being occupied by my dirty laundry.

I ran a hand over my hair and sighed, flicking the monitor off. "That's enough physics for one night," I muttered. I'd finished the majority of the assignment, but there were still two or three problems that I had skipped over with the intention of returning and finishing.

Unfortunately, it's three hours past dinnertime, and the rice and vegetables are calling my name, so I fully intend to tell the teacher that I had trouble with those three problems and have them finished up that way.

Hopping up on the banister, I slid downstairs just in time to see my mom pass through the living room. "Hey, ma!"

"Get off the banister." She had an armful of laundry and she plopped it into the basket down on the coffee table. I made a face at her and quickly scrambled down, looking out the window of the front door.

It was dark out now. _Crap_ , I thought, maybe I'd been doing my homework longer than I thought. "What time is it?"

Mom began sorting through the laundry, separating them into three piles. "It's eight-thirty. You finished your homework?"

"Yeah," I waved her off as I quickly ducked out and trekked into the kitchen. If it's eight-thirty, Scott will be home in about a half an hour. I loaded a plate full of vegetables and rice and popped it in the microwave to reheat. In the meantime, I ducked back into the living room and wrung my hands, trying to figure out a way to bring this up without seeming suspicious.

Mom had barely made a dent in the laundry. "You, uh, need help?" I said, and she paused to glance at me over her shoulder.

"Really?" She raised her eyebrows. "You never offer to help with the laundry. Well, I'm almost finished now anyways." I breathed a sigh of relief, having no intent of _actually_ helping her. "But you can take the last load out of the washer and put it in to dry."

I bit back a groan and ran a hand over my hair, my fingers getting caught in some tangles. "Oh, uh, sure thing…" I cleared my throat and set about putting my hair into a braid, slowly walking towards the chair to perch on the armrest. My food still had about two minutes to go. Clearing my throat again, I took a deep breath. "Hey, in my study hall today, my teacher was trying to describe symptoms to us and no one could figure out what it was."

Mom hummed as she began to sort through some socks, matching pairs up. I shifted and tried again. "It was uh, well, someone had been bitten by a wild animal, and then the patient was … stronger. And faster. And … more agile. He could also smell and hear better than ever before…"

Mom snorted. "Sounds like the plot to a superhero movie."

I forced out a laugh and pointed at her. "Oh, you! It does not."

She looked at me strangely, pausing from folding to look at me. She must have seen something in the way I sat, _or_ she wasn't a complete and total dunce and realized how utterly stupid my questions were and how weird I was acting, because she suddenly turned away from her task at hand and gave me her full attention. "Why are you asking? What class is this for?"

"Oh, it wasn't a _real_ class… Study hall, right? Who needs it." I forced another laugh and trailed off, my mom tilting her head slightly, and I pressed on. "It was no big deal, I just thought, well, since you're a nurse, you might have more experience in this sort of thing."

"Okay…" she said slowly, and then sighed, actually pausing to consider the question. "Well it sounds like he was trying to play a joke on you kids. If a wild animal bites someone, there's a _host_ of diseases they could contract, but none of them are going to make you stronger, faster, or more _agile_."

I hummed and sighed, looking away like it had already left my mind. "Yeah, you're right. He was just being a dork, I think."

"I mean, if you find something like that, sign me up!" She joked. "I don't think coffee is strong enough anymore."

I delicately snorted and thankfully, the microwave dinged. I nearly rocketed out of my seat and sped towards the kitchen. "I'll do that!" I called over my shoulder.

As soon as I was out of the living room, I let out a heavy sigh and widened my eyes at myself. Geez, I need to get better at lying… she probably thinks I'm on drugs.

Which—well, never mind that. I grabbed my food out of the microwave and began to stir it, sitting down at the table with another sigh. I'd been a vegetarian for going on six months now, and consequently lost several pounds. As in, ten or twenty. Since being a vegetarian doesn't allow for a whole lot of options—I'm eating a lot less now. I'm also eating healthier than I ever have, choosing water over other drinks. That might not seem like such a big deal, but when you drink Dr. Pepper constantly, every day, for four straight years and then suddenly quit cold turkey… well, let's just say you can tell a difference.

The cinnamon buns were the most sugary, fattening food I've had since... actually, since the pizza from last night. And then the garlic knots—okay, fine. So I'm backsliding, so what? It's not as if I was _fat_ before. Chubby, maybe, but I've shed all my baby fat this summer! When I trained with Scott, I did a lot of exercising, too. It's left me a lot more slim and toned than before.

I've finally got that _flat tummy_ I've always dreamed of, but I'm nowhere near washboard abs. In fact, I'm nowhere near abs _period_. Especially if I keep eating miniature cinnamon rolls, garlic knots and pizza every night.

Anyways, enough about that. Mom seems to be at a loss for what Scott's experiencing. I mean, granted, she had no idea that I was describing a legitimate condition that her _son_ is afflicted with, so she might not have been trying too hard, but apparently nothing jumped out at her. I guess it leads me to think that maybe there's nothing wrong with him at all.

Well, this is good news! Right?

I finished eating and slipped into the laundry room—which was actually just a small closet hidden behind the downstairs bathroom, and switched over the last load. After I threw in some dryer sheets, I set the timer and closed it up, and skipped into the living room to catch the tail end of an episode of House Hunters with my mom.

It was like that, with the freshly laundered clothes lying in neat piles around us, that Scott found us two hours later. He was _late_.

"Oh," I put on the voice of an old woman, squinting at Scott's face. "Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Who's that—mother, does that not look like our long lost Scotty?—Oh!" I cried, covering my face. "How terribly I miss him!"

"Heh?" Mom played along, cupping her hand behind her ear. "Why are you whispering!"

I cut back a laugh and leaned forward, squinting hard at Scott. "You there! Come closer to we frail, old women! Let us look upon your face!" I took him by the shoulders and let out a long, soulful cry. "It's as if our Scotty has finally come home to us, mother! If only it were true."

Scott pushed me away and turned to mom. "Sorry I'm late, someone hit a dog on the road. I had to set its leg, and it took longer than expected."

I gasped and dropped the act. "Someone hit a _puppy_ ," I pressed my hands to my mouth. "Poor baby! Is he okay?"

"It wasn't a puppy, it was a dog."

"All dogs are puppies." I quickly said, as it if should be obvious. Scott stared at me for half a beat longer before looking away.

" _Anyways_. Dinner?"

"In the microwave."

"Oh, no, it's on the counter," I winced, remembering when I took his plate out so I could warm mine up. "Whoops."

"Ugh," Scott rolled his eyes and stalked towards the kitchen, and I patted mom's shoulder twice before jumping up to trail after him.

"So what kind of dog was it?"

"I don't know, hey, how do you know if a girl likes you?"

Reeling from the sudden and drastic subject change, I raised my eyebrows and blinked rapidly, watching as he stuck his plate in the microwave and then made his way over to the fridge to grab a soda.

"Uhhh… Well… I—uh, how do you know if a _guy_ likes you?"

"I don't know, I guess… if he pays more attention to you than anyone else when you're around. Or if he goes out of his way to do nice things for you."

I raised a hand and gestured vaguely, as if to say, _there you go_. Scott's face scrunched and he shook his head.

"No, nope. No way, chicks are way more complicated and weird than that!"

I laughed and hopped up to sit on the counter, swinging my legs. "No, we're really not! I promise. Both of those things are true for girls, too. It's just that sometimes you _guys_ do frustrating things that make it difficult to like you."

"Oh, and you're so perfect?" He scoffed, before what I said finally sunk in and he leaned forward soberly. "What things?" He asked intensely, and I snorted.

"I don't know, _things_. Like, if it seems like you're into her one minute, and then you flip a switch and you're talking to some other girl. Oh, that'll drive a girl _crazy!_ Or, if you suddenly seem uninterested for some reason. That can really hurt, and it's the most confusing thing in the world. Mostly, it's that—at least early on… or, no, the same can be said for relationships that have been going for a while." I paused and took a breath. "Basically, it's whenever the guy seems to behave or react differently than we anticipate him to, because we've already mapped out how every interaction that we have with him should/will go, and when they _don't_ go the way we expect them to, we become anxious and fretfully try to explain or puzzle together _why_. And sometimes those explanations—well, sometimes we don't like them. So that's why it seems like we suddenly hate you or we're mad at you all the time. Because you're such _boys_ , and it drives us crazy."

Scott stared at me, slowly digesting all this information. "…Huh." He said just as the microwave dinged. He turned and retrieved his plate, and I brought my socked feet up to the counter so I could sit and face him when he sat down at the table.

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason…" He tried to dodge, and peeked up at me. He saw my expression and sighed, setting his fork down. "Okay, fine… there's this girl—"

"I _knew_ it!"

"She's the new girl. Her name is Allison, and she just moved here from San Francisco, and she's _beautiful_ —I mean, oh my god, Audrey—I've never met _anyone_ like her before!"

I closed my mouth, which had fallen open in shock and awe as he gushed to me, and just barely suppressed the _Awww_ he wouldn't have appreciated. Drawing my sweatshirt sleeves down over my fingers, I pressed my hand to my mouth and covered my shit-eating-grin, nodding for him to go on.

"Anyways, she's the one who hit the dog with her car, and she came running to the animal clinic in the rain. Well, she drove there, but she was soaked from waiting for me. She actually picked the dog up off the road and brought it with her, which basically no one does because they're either afraid they'll make it worse and hurt it more, or they're just jerks and drive off anyways and someone else calls for them—anyways, she was crying and I calmed her down and helped the dog… and we just really hit it off, you know? And—I asked her to go to the party!"

By this time, I was off the counter and jumping up and down and squealing. I suddenly held my hands out and gasped, and Scott's dopey grin hesitated on his face. "Wait—what party?"

"The one that Lydia is throwing."

"This Friday?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I think I have detention!"

"Well get out of it!" He exclaimed, and I flapped my hands uselessly, pacing back and forth in my fuzzy socks.

"How!? It's Coach Finstock!"

"Coach?" Scott scoffed, reaching out to grab me by the elbow. "You mean the detention he mentioned on the field?" I nodded, wide-eyed, and Scott laughed with relief. "Oh, Audrey, hey! Don't worry about that! There's no way Finstock's gonna make you actually go to detention. He barely does those anyways, he hates them more than kids do, and the season just started. Relax! You're fine, you'll be able to go."

"I better," I pouted, sighing happily and pressing my hands against my chin again. I paused and smiled, looking at Scott. "Tell me more about Allison!"

"Okay, so the first time I saw her…"

* * *

I sat on the bleachers, rubbing my hands together and trying to get some warmth back into them. It was a particularly cool afternoon, and another day of practice. I kept my head low and didn't do anything that might upset the coach, and also… I spied on _Allison_.

So, first of all, she is _really_ pretty. And she seems really nice—barring the fact that she's hanging out with Lydia Martin. But that can be overlooked. Actually, everything about Allison would appeal to Scott, even the Lydia part, because that would speak volumes to how cool she must be if Lydia Martin has dragged her to the dark side after only days of attending Beacon Hills.

I'm not sure what to make of her just yet, because she seems uncomfortable and like everything she says to Lydia is forced, but she's also eyeing the field anxiously. It seems like she's waiting for someone, which pisses me off because I know how much my brother likes her, and if she's into someone else… I'll hate her forever.

" _Audrey_!" Stiles screeched from behind me, scaring me so bad I almost fell off the bleachers. He grabbed me by the arms with a grip so tight I actually winced. "Audrey! Thank god, _where's Scott?!"_

"Uh—probably in the locker rooms, Stiles—let go, would ya!" I jerked my arms out of his grasp and frowned at him, as he switched between glancing and me and whirling all around on his feet in search of Scott.

He paused and looked down at me long enough to touch my shoulders and mutter a quick apology. "Listen, I just overheard my dad on the phone and they got the DNA results back about the hairs they found on the body in the woods, and it matched a wolf! A _wolf,_ Audrey—do you know what this means?"

I glanced over at some of our classmates who were giving us a funny look and smiled fakely at them. "Hi, Steven. Cho." I grinned, taking Stiles' shoulder and pushing him away as I stood. "How ya doin'? Love the jacket, Steve, really brings out your eyes—" As soon as I was off the bleachers, I turned and dragged Stiles out of their hearing range, making sure to smack the side of his head for good measure. "Dude!" I hissed, and he winced as he whirled around to scan for my brother some more.

"What the hell was that for!? Did you even hear me—"

"Uh, _yeah_ , the whole _field_ heard you Stiles! Did _you_ hear you?"

Stiles paused and focused entirely on me, and I took in his frantic form and lacrosse gear. For some reason it was a bit unnerving to actually see him all dudded up in the whole uniform—it'd been a while since I had… well, taken the time to notice him in it. I shook it off and focused on what he was saying. "It matched a _wolf_ , Audrey. He was right! This could change—"

"What?" I interrupted, shrugging at him. He popped his mouth closed and stared at me with wide eyes. "What could it change? So it was wolf, so what?"

" _So_ —" He cried, practically busting a blood vessel in his eye. "So what!? So _what!_ So— _it was a wolf_! I was _wrong!"_

"Well, still, I mean, what does that prove? That he's lucky to be alive? That he's lucky it just bit him once? I mean, how vicious are wolves, really? We have no idea! That's the thing, Stiles—we still don't _know_ anything. And… I talked to my mom—"

"Whoa, okay, _what!?_ " He practically levitated from the field in shock. "You talked to your _mom?_ What'd you tell her!?"

"No—I didn't _tell_ her anything! I just—sort of asked—like, I said that it was for a class—well, anyways, I asked her about the symptoms and if she knew of anything that it could be, and she said no. Well, more than that, she said it sounded like the plot to a cheesy superhero movie, and if I found whatever bit the hypothetical patient then I should sign her up."

Stiles' face fell and he looked away as he processed this new information.

"Yeah." I said. "That's what I said. I mean… Who knows? Maybe it… maybe it's nothing. I mean—hopefully it's nothing. Hopefully he'll just heal on his own, and it'll all go away, right?"

And it was a loaded question. Because while we didn't know a thing about it, we both know deep down that… what if it whatever bit Scott _was_ werewolf? How cool would that be? To know—to be _related_ _to_ a living, breathing, real life werewolf? Especially if it's making him better, faster, and stronger? And well, nothing happens in our lives. We've been complaining about that for the past six months. So… what if this changes things? What if it changes _everything_ … would that be so bad?

I knew Stiles felt the same way, I could see it in the faltering way his light brown eyes stared hesitantly—almost shamefully back at me. He finally looked away and put his hands on his hips with a sigh. "I don't know, Aud. I still think he's been acting weird. I think we should at least keep our guard up, don't you?"

"Definitely." I nodded, turning to point where Scott was getting ready. I could tell he was psyching himself up, because he kept shaking his hands out and jumping in place. "He's gotta go first-elimination. Which means, if he doesn't do _well_ , he's out of the team. Do you really think _now_ is the time to spring this on him?"

Stiles sighed and let his head fall back. "Man, I just…" He lifted his head back up and looked at me, his eyebrows creased. "You know?"

I snorted and nodded. "Yeah, I do."

Coach Finstock blew the whistle and screamed for the boys to gather round him on the field, and Stiles briefly touched my shoulder before taking off. I called good luck to him and went to my usual spot, low on the bleachers, so I could go kneel next to Stiles on the bench once the try-outs got going if I wanted to.

I caught Allison waving eagerly at Scott and felt a bubble of hope rising in my chest, bringing my mood up as I saw my brother's face light up on the field. Well, it looks like I found whom she had been waiting to see, after all.

Try-outs started and Scott was… on fire. There was a bit of a hiccup at the very beginning, when he got the ball and was immediately knocked on his ass by Jackson, but now he was twirling around players and dodging tackles like he had all the time in the world.

It wasn't until he did a backflip over three guys that I called bullshit. I rocketed to my feet, but not to cheer—to catch Stiles' eye. He turned on the bench to send me a worried look, and I quickly made my way over to him.

"Okay—forget _everything_ I just said," I hissed, my heart racing, and Stiles threw his hands out.

"Yeah huh!" He nodded frantically, and we both watched as Coach called Scott over and basically _screamed_ that he had made first line.

Instinctively, I threw my hand in the air and squealed, and when Scott turned to find my face in the crowd, he looked at the bleachers first. Then he saw Allison, smiled at her, and then he found me next to Stiles and pointed at me triumphantly, going so far as to do a little hop in the air, which I mimicked.

He turned away to finish his try-out, and Stiles and I made plans to meet up afterwards to discuss this more.

* * *

I sighed and flipped through the pages, propping my feet up on Stiles' wall. I was currently lying on his bed with about three pillows propping me up. It felt like my life was gathering somewhat of a routine—more and more often, I was pouring over pages late into the night until my eyes were dry and tired... especially without my reading glasses. I gave them a good rub and let out a groan. "This still seems like a waste of time to me."

"Look, we typed the symptoms into Web MD and nothing came up." He said, a highlighter cap hanging out of his mouth and making his words slightly slurred. He spat it out and wiped it off on his shirt, and I scrunched my face at him. "And I used the advanced search, the same one I've literally seen my own doctor use before."

"Oh, my god," I said, disgusted. "You can't be serious. Your doctor used _Web MD?_ In front of you?"

"Yeah!"

"What— _what_ are medical degrees for?" I shrugged, agitated. "Why do we have medical school if the doctors are starting to turn to the Internet?

"I don't know, but the point is, if Web MD can't diagnose his symptoms, then we need to dig a little deeper."

"Or— _maybe_ —there's nothing wrong with him."

"Audrey, you saw him on the field!" Stiles leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. Clearly frustrated with me at this point, he put his hands out and shook his head. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm happy for him, but _this_... this is real, Audrey. I mean, let's look at what we know."

He turned back to the giant white paper we had pinned to his wall, using bright red marker to list Scott's symptoms in a column on one side, and then a list of possible causes on the right.

"Increased agility and dexterity. Sudden increase of gross and fine motor skills. Acutely heightened sensory details. Rapid cell regeneration."

"All of which is fancy speak for: he's better, faster, stronger. Can heal wounds more easily." I paused and sighed. "I mean, overall, there's not really anything here that can't be explained away by… trying harder. Except for the wounds, which is _definitely_ strange. I mean, when I tried to talk about it with him last night, he told me that his bite had completely healed."

"Like—completely?" Stiles frowned, twirling the marker in his hand.

I nodded, shrugging a shoulder. "It was like he was trying to convince me nothing was wrong, like it was no big deal because it was already all better—but that wound shouldn't have healed _that_ quickly. It was… like, I'm pretty sure he should've gotten stitches. I know it doesn't make sense, but so far that's the only thing that's _really_ startling. I mean, there's no, climbing up walls, laser vision, claws descending out of his knuckles. He's not reading minds or controlling metal, lifting cars or exploding pineapples with his mind." I paused before adding, "Or _flying_."

Stiles waved his hand through the air. "Alright, alright, alright, I get it. But then look at the possible causes we have!"

I pressed my lips together and slid my feet off his wall so I could flip over and sit up straight. Crossing my arms, I read them aloud. "Lycanthropy. A friendly robotic extraterrestrial (see Earth to Echo)." I pointed at him, "Still say that's a real contender," And Stiles muttered to me and waved impatiently for me to go on. "Okay, okay, let's see… He found the weird glowing thing from Chronicle that made the kids have superpowers. Vampire. Benjamin Button. Looper. Narnia. The pin from Tomorrowland. Lord Voldemort. Drugs. Delusion of grandeur. Steroids." I paused and ran a hand over my mouth. "Well, at least we have fun," I shrugged with a poorly hidden grin, and Stiles nodded quickly with a snort. "Seriously though, you're right—I mean, honestly? Besides steroids, the one that makes the most sense up there is…"

"Lycanthropy." Stiles nodded. "I know!"

"But how cool would Narnia be?"

"That doesn't even make sense, I shouldn't have let you put it on the board," Stiles grumbled, and I scoffed and jabbed a finger at the board.

"Benjamin Button?!"

"The pin from _Tomorrowland_?"

"Alright, alright, let's be serious." I stole the marker from his hand, ignoring his protests, and quickly crossed everything off the board except lycanthropy and steroids. Sighing, I turned back to Stiles and put my hands out. "Okay…" I said, and he went to sit at his computer, cracking his knuckles. "Let's research."

* * *

"Heightened senses, accelerated healing, enhanced agility, enhanced strength…" I read from Stiles' bed. He was still in his desk chair, and I had his pillow propped under my arms, lying on my stomach with at least twenty papers scattered around me. We'd ruled out the possibility of Scott using steroids around the same time that _loss of appetite_ _and fatigue_ popped up on the list of symptoms, and focused all our efforts on researching lycanthropy. "…known to cure illnesses like epilepsy, asthma, or even cancer." I flicked the paper and looked up at Stiles " _Asthma_ , Stiles."

"I know, I was thinking the same thing… and it says it takes around 48 hours for the bite to heal, unless the person rejects the bite. You said his wound healed last night, right?" I hummed in agreement and he pursed his lips and sighed, looking up at me. "Audrey… do you know what this means?"

" _I know,_ I know… we're just going to have to convince him. When did he say he'd be here?"

And as if on cue, the door opened and my brother walked in. Well, is timing was impeccable. "Hey—Audrey?" He frowned at me, splayed on Stiles' bed with papers scattered all around. He looked back at Stiles and then back at me. "What's going on? Why is she here?"

I raised an eyebrow and scoffed, sitting up. "Uh, hello to you, too, Sunshine."

Actually, his shock was understandable. I think this is the first time in the history of their friendship that I've been alone with Stiles at his house. It's certainly the first time he's invited me over before and without ever mentioning it to Scott. That little fact had yet to occur to us, but now that it'd been pointed out, Stiles and I avoided each other's gaze and briefly lost track of the task at hand.

"Oh—Scott!" Stiles suddenly launched out of his chair. "Okay, so you know how the DNA came back as a match for a wolf on the body?"

"Yeah, so?"

" _So_ , we've been doing research all night."

" _All night?"_ He asked, his eyes narrowed at me, and Stiles squirmed as if anxious and annoyed that he was focusing on the wrong point.

"What—you didn't notice I wasn't _hom_ e?" I frowned, and Scott threw his hands up.

"I thought you'd gone to bed!"

"What? Never mind! Scott, listen to this: Heightened senses, accelerated healing, enhanced agility, enhanced strength… known to cure illnesses like _asthma_ …" I said, looking at him expectantly, waiting patiently for him to connect the dots.

He merely frowned down at me and shook his head. He looked back at Stiles and shrugged. "What is this, a riddle?"

"Ugh!" I smacked my forehead and Stiles took over.

" _No_ , listen man—you know how I made a joke about you being a werewolf?"

"Yeah… so?"

"Um… well, it's not a joke anymore."

"Come on, seriously!?" Scott snapped, "You're wasting my time with this? I don't have _time!_ I have to wash mom's car, and then I have a date with Allison tonight!"

"Okay, more important," I reminded, sitting up on my knees so I was face-to-face with him. "Scott—I—for one, think Allison would want you to focus on _this_ for a minute!" I tried to make that lame point seem sincere, looking awkwardly over Scott's shoulder to Stiles for a little support. He nodded rapidly and pointed at me.

"She would want me to discuss the chances of whether or not I'm going to shift into a _wolf_ to howl at the _moon?_ " He hissed, and I paused, glancing back at Stiles helplessly.

"Well... if it would make you happy, I think she'd want you to, right—"

"Well it _wouldn't_ make me happy!" He pushed me out of the way and made for the door again. "I gotta go—"

"No!" Stiles and I cried. "Wait!"

Nearly face planting into the floor, I flew off the bed and popped between the door and my brother, guarding the knob with my life. "You're not leaving yet!"

"Outta my way—"

"Dude, the what about the way you were on the field today? I mean, didn't you stop to question that!?"

"I _told_ you, we trained—"

"Scott," I said, my voice low. He stared at me, his eyes wide and unsuspecting. I shook my head. "We never trained like _that_. Come on… a back flip?"

"It was probably just adrenaline!"

"You made _every_ shot!" Stiles continued. "You dodged almost every single tackle—you bested _Jackson Whittemore_ on the field today. I mean—it's not just good, it's impossible!"

"It's _impossible_ for me to be better than Jackson?"

"No, it's impossible for you to run _all the way_ down the field, dodge four tackles, outrun every single person, backflip over _three_ players, and then make an _amazing_ shot—all without ever needing to stop and puff your inhaler!" I said, and Scott actually shut up long enough to absorb my words, the silence backing it up. " _That's_ impossible, for _you_."

Scott looked down and shook his head.

"Scott, we need to figure this out—and fast." Stiles said.

"Okay, okay… we can do it tomorrow."

" _Tomorrow_ —no, dude, the full moon is _tonight!_ Do you get that?"

"I can't think about this now, you guys!" He snapped, causing me to sit back in surprise. "I mean, what are you trying to _do!?_ Everything is finally coming together for me! I made first line, I have a date with an _amazing_ girl, I'm going to a party tomorrow, I mean— _why_ are you trying to ruin this for me?"

" _Ruin_ —" I snapped, pushing Scott away. "Are you serious!?"

Stiles sat down at his desk and turned away, picking up a piece of paper before turning back. "We're trying to help." He looked up at Scott, an almost pleading expression on his face, and I couldn't deny the frustration I felt that Scott was being so difficult.

"Scott, you can't go out tonight. This—this werewolf… virus, poison, whatever you wanna call it—"

" _Curse_ —" Stiles supplied.

"It's going to send you into some sort of… frenzy tonight. Look, look here," I said, jabbing at a paper. "See, the full moon will make you physically shift for the first time, and you're especially more susceptible to it if something upsets you or makes your heart race."

"Nothing gets your heart pumping more than Allison does." Stiles pointed out, sitting back in his chair. "Dude, you gotta cancel the date tonight."

" _No_ , no way," Scott says, shaking his head vehemently. "I can't!"

"Yeah, look, okay…" I put my hands on Stiles' shoulders as he tried to stand, forcing him back into his chair. I paused and tried to think of the best way to phrase this. "Okay, it's not _canceling_. Tell her you're rescheduling. What about tomorrow night?"

"No. I can't cancel on our first date!"

" _Yes_ , you can."

"No!"

"Scott, _yes!_ You can't go! _"_

 _"No!"_

I sighed and Stiles sprang out of the chair, darting for Scott's bag. "What're you doing?" Scott cried.

"I'm canceling the date!"

"Stiles— _don't!"_ I said, knowing that would only make it worse, and Scott panicked and grabbed Stiles' shoulder with a roar to tear him away from his bag, sending him crashing back into the wall. I gasped and started forward, but Scott had drawn his fist back and for a split second I thought he was about to punch _Stiles_.

He stopped himself at the last second, using his momentum to throw the desk chair over. The legs of the chair clattered into my ankles, knocking me back. I managed to catch myself before I fell, but just barely. Scott gasped upon seeing me stumble, his hand flashing out. I reacted without thinking. Somehow I stopped myself from flinching, but the sentiment was there, and it hung in the air between us. Scott's hand was held out towards me, and he blinked at me and slowly withdrew it. Stiles' mouth was agape with shock, and I was covering mine. None of us said a single word. The silence was so thick, it felt like hands at my throat as Scott slowly backed away, shaking his head and rushing out of the room with a slurred apology, stopping only long enough to grab his bag off the floor.

He left Stiles' door open, and some minuscule part of me whispered to go after him, but then I blinked and thought about what he'd just done.

Silently, I lowered my hands and looked back at Stiles, stepping forward. "Are you all right?"

" _Fine,"_ He snapped, suddenly moving. He grabbed a fistful of papers that were scattered around his desk. "Just _fine_." He ground out, shoving books haphazardly into drawers and shaking his head.

I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just reached down with shaking hands to pick his chair up. I almost dropped it again when I saw the back, quickly spinning it so it faced the light of the window before calling out Stiles' name.

He turned away from the mess and froze, and we both stared at the three deep gashes torn through the leather of his seat. Slowly, we looked back at each other.

"Well…" I murmured, looking back at the chair. "I guess that answers that question." Stiles nodded and I sighed. "He's the Wolverine." Stiles smacked my shoulder and I snickered. "Seriously though, what can we do now?"

* * *

 ** _orionastro: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! :) Derek will obviously be involved in this fic, but not romantically. There will be future interactions though, trust me there! _**

_**As always thank you for the continued support!**_

 _ **I would**_ really _ **appreciate some more reviews, so if you have the time and could leave a quick comment that would be fabulous! :)**_


	5. Chapter 4

_**Hi everyone! :) Hope you're all doing well. This new chapter is one of my favorites so far... We're very nearly caught up to what I have prepared in advanced... I'm posting these a lot faster than I anticipated. I had hoped to keep my writing about two chapters ahead of what I post, but that's quickly becoming a pipe dream that's just too far out of reach... Oh well. As long as the story continues, right?**_

 _ **I'll post review responses at the end! Enjoy :)**_

* * *

I opened the front door and stepped into the foyer of my house, running a hand over my hair. Stiles had given me a ride home after we discussed what we should do about tonight, and finally, we decided that we needed to go to the party.

If Scott was determined to make the stupid decision of going, then there's only one thing we have left to do—and that's make sure he doesn't kill someone. I would say I'm being dramatic, but… well. At this point, I'm not sure about anything anymore.

My mom's voice trickled down from upstairs. " _Absolutely_ , I'm serious! Scott, I am _not_ ending up on some _reality show_ with a pregnant teenager!"

I raised my eyebrows and bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time.

Poking my head into Scott's door, I smirked at them both and shook my head. "Dudes, chillax. I'm a virgin. No chance of pregnancy here."

Scott threw his head back and covered his face, groaning in mortification. Without another word, he retreated into his bathroom and slammed the door shut, and mom and I erupted into giggles.

"We were talking about _Allison_ ," Mom informed me, tossing something that sounded suspiciously like keys onto Scott's bed as she made her way out of his room. "But that's good to hear."

"Ah," I said, tilting my head as I leaned against the wall of the hallway and smiled at her. "So you finally had _that_ talk with him, huh?"

"No, he wouldn't have it! I mean, I was just talking about him not drinking and driving at the party tonight, but then he turned it into this whole _sex-talk_ thing, and—well, thank god you walked in at that moment, otherwise it would've been absolutely scarring." She paused and shook her head. "You know, you kids think the parents get some sort of sick pleasure out of torturing you with uncomfortable conversations—but I've got news for you; _we_ hate it even more than you do."

"Well," I winced, tilting my head the other way. "I don't know about _that_ …"

"No, it's true, because we have to live with the abject horror that is the image of our babies having sex in—unsupervised, underage parties with young, teenage girls—drinking gallons of alcohol—and it's just—" She sighed, putting her head in her hands. " _Promise me_ you'll tell me when you're ready, and we'll get you on the pill."

"Ugh," I scoffed, wrinkling my nose. "No way!"

"Okay then," She crossed her arms at me. "I'll put you on the pill _now_. Save us that awkward conversation."

"Mom!"

"Or would you rather have that _other_ awkward conversation, about how you messed up and you have something to tell me—"

" _No_ , no! Fine…"

She smiled and crossed her arms, and something about her body language said she was withdrawing from battle for the moment. I knew from experience, however, that this conversation was far from over. Mom sighed and followed me as I turned to my bedroom. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Uh, actually… I think I'm going to the party, too."

"Oh yeah? Scott takin' ya?"

"No, Stiles." I opened my closet and started flipping through the tops, turning to glance at her when I was met with prolonged silence.

"Oh, _really?_ " She said, her voice having dropped with suggestion.

I frowned and feigned ignorance. "Uh, yeah. Really."

" _Stiles_ is taking you."

I remained silent, picking out a red and black patterned dress with a peter pan collar. The longer her silence went on, the higher my annoyance grew, and I grabbed things with a little too much force. I paired the dress with sheer black tights and laid them both on my bed, ignoring my mom who was practically bursting with the need to say something, but clearly trying to wait me out like I'd cave and actually ask her what she was thinking.

Just as I started to dig through my closet for my black ankle boots, she couldn't take it anymore. "So I guess I'll ask you the same question I asked your brother… is this a party or a _date?_ "

"Okay," I defensively snapped, turning on my heel and grabbing mom by the shoulders. "Stiles and I are just _friends,_ mom, and I really wish people would stop insinuating anything more!" I none-too-gently steered her to the door of my room and kicked her into the hall, ignoring her laughing apology, and turned back to quickly change into the dress and tights.

Unable to locate my boots, I gave that hunt up for the moment and proceeded to pin my hair up. Once I was somewhat satisfied with how that turned out, I put on earrings, swiped on some quick makeup, and turned back to my closet.

I plopped on the ground and crawled forward to dig through the bottom of my closet. Groaning in frustration, I smacked my floor and yelled for my mom. I huffed and tossed a flip-flop over my shoulder. "Have you seen my black boots?" I turned back to the pile of shoes behind me, flitting my eyes over each of them in case I'd missed them somehow. "… _Mom!_ " I screamed, to no avail. Finally, I heard her coming up the stairs. "Ugh, bless you woman!" I cried, rapidly beginning to haphazardly throw my shoes back into the closet. I could reorganize them later, when I _wasn't_ late. "Stiles is probably gonna be here any second, and I can't exactly go barefoot, can I?"

I sighed and blew some stray hairs out of my face, whirling around to get to my feet. I pranced over to the door and stuck my hand out for the shoes. She paused, apparently, because my hand was just hanging out in the hall. I sighed impatiently and wagged my hand. "Mom, come on, we can talk about birth control later—"

" _Audrey_!" Stiles' voice suddenly squeaked, as he pushed my door back and nudged my hand aside. "Hey—"

" _Oh, my god,"_ I gasped, my face flaming bright red.

" _Birth_ control!?" He sputtered, his voice strangely shrill.

"What the heck are you doing here!?"

"I'm here to pick you up!"

"What are you doing in _here?_ "

He blinked at me. "…I'm here to pick you up!"

I scoffed and stomped my foot. "You couldn't _text_ me? Or call?"

"Sorry, I didn't know it was such a big deal! I never text Scott, I always just come up—"

"I'm not Scott," I informed him, leaning forward to emphasize my point.

" _Yeah_ ," He lamely tried. "I—know..that." He sighed. "Sorry, Aud, won't happen again. I'll give you a full text's notice before I come up to your room."

"All right," I muttered, brushing past him to get into the hallway. He started to say something, but I was annoyed with him so I spoke over him. "Mom!" I quickly padded down the stairs, searching through the kitchen and into the living room where I finally found her perched on the couch. " _Hello_ ," I breathed, fire coming from my mouth with a tight smile. "Remember me? Your _child?_ The one you grew in your body for nine months and later _birthed?_ "

She sighed without turning around, unaffected by my guilt trip. "You'll have to be more specific."

I gawped at her and she blinked innocently back at me. Cracking a knuckle, I resisted the urge to reach back and smack Stiles when he snorted at the way my mom was treating me, and I drew in a steadying breath. "My shoes." I said. " _Where_ are my shoes?"

"Hall closet," She said, popping another baby carrot into her mouth.

"Thanks a lot," I said dryly, in a tone that suggested a very _different_ comment. She cheerily reciprocated, and I shook my head and grumbled to myself as I dug through the closet.

Finally, mercifully, I found the stupid boots. Damn it, if they weren't so beautiful...

"Thank god," I said, sliding one shoe on. "What time is it?" I asked, using Stiles' shoulder as a leaning post while I wiggled my foot into my other shoe.

"Ah—it's nine fifteen."

"Oh, good, we're not late."

"Well, technically the party started at eight-thirty."

"Yes, but no one ever shows up until nine-thirty in the movies."

He scrunched his face, considering my words briefly before starting to answer, when Scott suddenly spoke behind us.

"Audrey, _what_ are you wearing?"

I let go of Stiles' shoulder and stepped away, looking down at my outfit. "Hmm—I don't know?… I _thought_ it was a dress…"

"Where'd you get it?!" He exclaimed, his cheeks dusting pink as he looked at me.

"Oh," I scoffed, waving him off. "You know, I doubt it comes in your size—"

"No—that's not what I—" He sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "It's like, two sizes too small!"

"Dude, no!" I ran my hands down the smooth fabric, scowling at my older brother. "It's huge! I mean, _look!_ It has pockets."

"You're welcome!" Mom called from the living room, causing Scott to wheel around and gawp at her like she'd betrayed him.

"You've _seen_ the dress, mom?" He gasped.

"I picked it out!"

His jaw dropped and he whirled back, pointing at me incredulously. "But! She! It's," He pointed at the hem. "And the! You know what? Never mind." I smirked and crossed my arms as he sighed. "So you guys are going, too?"

" _Dude_ , it's Lydia's party." Stiles said, the awkward kicking up another ten notches as the boys finally faced each other head on after the last awkward encounter we all shared. "Try and hold me back."

I sniffed and rubbed at my nose, looking between them quietly. "So… We good here?" I prompted, and watched as Stiles nodded at Scott.

"We'll be there to save your ass when it all goes south tonight."

Scott stiffened and I hid a smile behind my hand as he muttered something unintelligible to us, turning to make for the front door.

"I gotta go," He grumbled, keys in his hand. "Allison is waiting. I guess—I'll see you guys there…"

"See ya," I called, waving as he closed the door. It shut, and I looked back at Stiles, widening my eyes. "So? Whaddya think? Did he look wolfy to you?"

"Not yet…" Stiles sighed. "But we still need to go to keep an eye on him."

"Yeah, you're probably right." I grabbed my purse from the hanger and called a goodbye to mom, following Stiles out the door.

* * *

"Oh, my god!" Kellie Patel cooed, running her hand down Stiles' lapels and grabbing the side of my peter pan collar. "You guys _maaatch_ ," She drawled, her gin-scented breath blowing down my face. "Looook! You're both wearing _red_ , and he's got this _tie_ on with a _suit_ jacket, and you've got this awesome little _dress_ and those _shoes_ … Ugh, I ship it." She tapped my nose and almost fell onto me. "I ship it _so_ hard."

"Oh," I cringed, patting her black hair. "Yeah, okay," I pushed her back a little and nudged her back towards the kegs. "Look! Someone's doing refills, you're looking a little low—"

"Aw, no, I _hate_ beer."

"Oh, not this beer," I winked, nodding as if it was some top-secret recipe. "Go on! Try it!"

"Okay!" She brightly slurred, stumbling away. I sighed and turned back to Stiles with wide eyes, shaking my head at his annoyed look. I crossed my arms and cocked my hip out, scooting closer to observe Scott and Allison from a clearer vantage point. "Well," I breathed, following his gaze to them. "So far, they've danced, groped, danced some more, groped some more—and then Kellie came over and I'm not _sure_ because I wasn't watching—but something tells me they danced some more."

Stiles shook his head and swiped at his nose, "Oh, no, there was some groping, too," He said, tilting his cup back to take a drink as he jammed his hand into his pocket.

"Right!" I nodded, and he lifted his cup to me. "I mean, so far it's been a pretty standard, mediocre high school date."

Stiles sighed and looked up to the sky, where clouds were misting over the moon. "I don't know, maybe the sky needs to be clear or something."

"Yeah, but it can't be clear _every_ month, right? And I didn't see anything in our research that would suggest there are exceptions because of a little cloud. Right? Is it really the _moon_ that does it? Or is it just like—"

"I mean, if not the moon then what? I read one thing that suggested it was like the moon pulling the tides."

"Okay, in that case, it'd be every night. The moon doesn't just stop pulling the tides when it's not full. It doesn't just come out and say, ' _hey_ , you know, I'm not really _feeling_ it tonight… I think the ocean can fend for itself. I just really need some _me_ time.' The moon pulls the tide _every_ night. So, I mean, the shift doesn't happen _every_ night, right? Does the first shift really happen because the moon _makes_ it happen?"

Stiles sighed and shrugged. "Maybe it's because I'm drinking, but you're making a lot of sense to me right now."

I smirked and watched as Allison pulled Scott even closer, glancing away uncomfortably. "Well, suppose they could learn to resist it. What then? Does the full moon become obsolete? Was it ever really even in control in the first place, or is it just like some pre-determined timer that goes off and signifies the wolf cookies have baked long enough? I mean, if it's like the tide, or like something _else_ we all know occurs once a month, there's no learning to suppress it, or learning to master it. It just—is. It just happens. You can't stop it."

I looked back and found that Stiles had wandered off, and I'd been talking to a _bush_ for the past two minutes. I smiled at the empty spot, blinking rapidly. _Great._

When I drink, I become strangely philosophical and scholarly. It's like, pour a little alcohol in me, and suddenly I want to know _why_ everything happens the way it does. Obviously, this can be a bit of a buzz-kill for some people, and I know that. I get that… Still. It sucks.

I sighed and started to leave when a voice spoke up from beside me and scared me three feet into the air. "You're wrong," Said the man from the woods. _Derek Hale._

"Uh oh," I blurted without thinking. "Something tells me _you_ weren't invited, were you?"

"He's too young to control it yet, especially his first time."

"That's what she said," I blurted out before immediately clapping my hand over my mouth. I gasped and stared at him with wide eyes, and he just watched me calmly. With that perpetual scowl marring his face, like he knew something I didn't, or like he was just waiting for me to cause a huge mess that _he_ had to clean up. " _Wow_ , okay, _hey_ ," I anxiously stumbled back towards the crowd, waving at him. "Dunno what _you're_ talking about, dunno _you_ , stranger danger—uh… okay," and with that, I turned and disappeared into the crowd, my pulse racing a mile a minute.

I wove through dancing, sweaty teenage bodies, desperately trying to find Scott and Allison, or Stiles—or _hell_ , Kellie. _Anyone_ familiar! I glanced back and saw Derek _still_ standing there, still watching me, and I swallowed roughly and pressed on, thicker into the crowd, closer to the house.

I walked right up to where Scott and Allison had previously been dancing, but the spot was empty. Frowning, I glanced one last time over my shoulder at Derek before ducking into the house.

I dodged a few drunken kids and flying ping-pong balls, scanning the crowd for a familiar, relevant face.

I found Stiles in a group of boys, grabbed him by the back of the jacket, and dragged him a few steps back. He flailed and tried to fight me off, spilling drink on his shoes, but I ignored that and pressed on. "Stiles!" I hissed. "They're gone. Where'd they go?"

"Uh—I don't know! I saw Scott come through here like, two minutes ago, tops. He looked sick, but I thought you would've known!"

"Me?" I chirped pushing his shoulder. "Why me?"

"Because you were supposed to be watching them!"

"Well _guess what!_ I was, until you left, and Derek _Hale_ showed his creepy ass face!"

"Wait— _Derek's_ here?"

"Yeah, and now Scott and Allison are missing. We gotta go _now_!"

" _Crap_ , c'mon," Stiles grabbed my hand and practically dragged me from the room, dumping his cup into a ficus without pausing.

"Oh, my god, _loooook!"_ Kellie screeched from the other corner of the room. Stiles and I stiffened, immediately picking up our pace and shoving people out of the way now. "There they go—" she paused to gasp, " _What!?_ They're holding hands—" _gasp_ , "Awwwwwwww! Guys, for real? _Goals_ —" Stiles slammed the door shut and immediately dropped my hand like it was radioactive, wiping it down his jacket with a shudder.

"Oh, _nice_ ," I dryly noted, nodding at him. "Yeah, I'm gross, that's fine."

"What?" Stiles frowned, barely pausing to look back at me as he quickly bounded down a couple steps. "No, it's just—Kellie is being annoying and weird, it doesn't matter—look!" He pointed down at the sidewalk. Before I could tell him to not change the subject, I saw Allison.

Allison with _Derek_. I gasped and pushed Stiles shoulder, urging him forward, and together we scrambled down the steps. "Go, go, go!" She was getting into a black car with him, smiling tightly at something he said as he held the passenger door open for her. We stopped at the foot of the steps and watched helplessly as he was apparently taking her … somewhere.

Derek shut the door behind her and turned around—looking straight up at us and smiling. I started forward and he turned away, quickly crossing around to the driver's side. By the time we got down the sidewalk, he tore away, and I kicked at the pavement and cursed.

"Where could they be going!?" I cried, tangling my fingers into my hair. "Where's Scott? Did it seem like she knew him? She's new to town, why would she know Derek? How could she know him?"

"I dunno, come on! Let's check your house, Scott's car is gone," he breathlessly told me, already jogging across the street to his jeep.

* * *

I ran up the steps three at a time, nearly rolling my ankle because of my stupid boots. The heels weren't that high, but I usually wear sneakers. I'm not a clumsy girl, but heels are saved for special occasions, so I don't have much experience in them—thankfully, Stiles was right on my heels, and he sat me upright and blurred past me.

He ran into Scott's door and tried opening it. "Scott—let me in!" He cried, struggling to push it open. I joined him and pushed against Scott—who was _crazy_ strong. We might as well be pushing against a well-oiled machine. "I can help, Scott!"

"No, you have to find Allison! It's Derek, he was at the party, and he's the one who bit me! He's the one who killed the girl in the woods!"

Stiles and I froze and stared at each other, and we were so close that I could see his pupils in his gold and brown-flecked eyes dilate with fear. "Scott—Derek left the party with Allison," Stiles said, and my stomach dropped as I looked at the door. I was terrified for Scott, scared to not know what was going on with him. Would he live through this? Would he survive it? Suddenly, the force on the door went away and Stiles and I practically fell into the room.

I stumbled in just soon enough to catch the tail end of Scott's head of hair as he leapt out of his window, and fear seared through me like a car doing a burnout on the road. _"Scott!"_

A hand grabbed my arm for the zillionth time that night, dragging me out of Scott's room. I almost shrieked at Stiles to wait, but then I froze as I heard the vicious roar of what sounded like a lion tear through the night. "Scott!" I gasped, scrambling to the window, but the yard was empty. Nothing was there. "Oh, my god," I choked out, tears of horror filling my eyes as hands wrapped around my arms and tried to gently wrench me away from the window. "No, _no_ , Stiles—did you hear that? Oh, _god_ , it's the wolf, he's probably chasing Scott, he's probably gonna hurt him— _oh my god,_ we have to go! What if there's more than one!?"

" _Audrey_ ," Stiles said, grabbing my face between his hands and forcing me to focus on him. I sputtered and struggled to concentrate through the haze of fear. "Audrey, that noise was probably _Scott_."

I frowned and reflexively started to scoff at him, but then I thought about it for a split second and froze. My eyes flicked back up to Stiles, who nodded at my expression and released my face, taking a step back. "We gotta go find Allison," He said, grabbing me by the wrist. "C'mon!"

* * *

"Are you sure this is her house?"

"Uh—" Stiles paused, his hand on the door of the jeep, and glanced back at me. "Nope!"

And with that, he hopped out and sprinted up to the door. I gasped and quickly darted after him, but he was already pounding on the door and frantically pressing the doorbell. " _Stiles_ , don't!"

"Allison!" He called, and I smacked his hand down before he could knock again.

"Stop it!"

"Allis—oh!" The door swung open and a tall woman with cropped red hair stood in the entry of the huge house, frowning at us with startled confusion. "Ahhh, _hi_. We're—friends of Allison's, and I know you don't know us…" He let out a nervous laugh and ran his hand over his hair, and I offered the woman an awkward smile. "You know, this is gonna sound crazy, but—"

"Allison!" The woman called over her shoulder, and my hand flew to Stiles' forearm in anticipation. "Some strange boy and his friend are here for you..."

She stepped aside, and over her shoulder we saw Allison leaning curiously over the railing of her stairs. Stiles and I simultaneously breathed out sighs of relief, actually staggering back from the weight that was lifted from our shoulders.

"Stiles?" Allison frowned as her mom left. Her eyes flitted to me, but apparently she had no clue who I was because she focused on him. "What are you doing here?"

"Uhhh—" Stiles had his hand out like the explanation was simple, but it sounded like his throat closed up, because he sputtered and turned to me. "Have you met Audrey?"

"Well—Allison, first of all, hi—" I smiled and let out a jerky, awkward wave. She smiled hesitantly at me, and I continued. "My name is Audrey, and I'm Scott's sister—" Allison straightened in shock and gawked at me. "I know I know, um, _surprise!"_ I laughed nervously, and Stiles joined in to make it more believable. Or, he tried, but I think it made it weirder because she seemed to only become more confused. "Well, anyways, Scott wasn't feeling well tonight, and… uh, did Scott ever tell you about his asthma?"

"His asthma?" Allison's eyebrows shot up and she suddenly seemed to buy it hook, line and sinker. She started to the top of the stairs, "Is he okay?"

"Oh— _yeah_ , he's fine," I quickly said, gesturing rapidly for her to stop. She hesitantly followed my instruction but looked like she wanted to say more. "He's just a little tired now. He was _really_ nervous for tonight, right Stiles?" I said, looking over at him. He had been scratching the back of his head and looking at me in surprise, but when I said his name he quickly dropped his hand and nodded, peeking at me from the corner of his eye.

"Oh—y-yeah, he was…" Stiles glanced down and my mind flashed back to the scene in his bedroom, when Scott almost punched him. "Freaking out." He seemed to second-guess this explanation because he quickly began to sputter, glancing helplessly between me and Allison. "Well—not—"

"Freaking out!" I nodded, and Stiles clamped his mouth shut. "Yeah, I'd say that sounds about right."

"F-freakin' out," Stiles muttered, eyes flitting between us again. "There was lots of… gasping and… wheezing—"

"The _point_ is," I said, grabbing Stiles' hand in a death grip and effectively cutting his train wreck lie to a crashing end. "He had an asthma attack, that's all." I waved it off like it was no big deal, and Stiles struggled to keep up with my lie as Allison frowned dubiously at us. "It's normal." I said. "It happens a lot, uh—there were some warning signs that we should've recognized… like, uh, crankiness," I shrugged, pointing at Stiles. "Remember the crankiness? He was pretty cranky today. And the coughing."

"He was coughing?" Allison frowned, squinting skeptically at us.

"Oh, yeah, _tons_." I dramatically insisted, nodding at Stiles. "Tons of coughing."

"Choking.. you even could say." Stiles agreed, nodding with me. "He was choking a lot."

"It's just—you just have to be familiar with the signs," I insisted with a shrug, and Allison was nodding as if she understood. But I knew she must be confused, because I was spewing absolute bullshit at her, and Stiles and I aren't exactly winning any awards for our deceptive skills. An awkward silence fell over us where we were all just nodding at each other, and Stiles and I caught each other's gazes momentarily. Long enough to mentally agree this had gone long enough.

"Oh—you know, it's fine. His friend Derek gave me a ride home, and I can understand—I mean, if he was sick, that's…" She sighed, clearing her throat. "Understandable."

" _Derek_. Yes," I said, taking a step back as I gestured in her direction. "I mean, that's what happened, and now you know he didn't just ditch you or anything crazy like that so…"

"He wanted us to make sure you got home alright," Stiles interjected with his own awkward wave, and Allison nodded.

"Yep, that's right," I pointed at her and winked, "Ha, that's Scott! Always the sweet one…" We all forced out fake laughs and trailed off, and I exchanged and uncomfortable glance with Stiles.

"Welp!" We chorused. "We should probably go—" Stiles continued, gesturing over his shoulder.

"Gotta check on him, so, uh… have a good night!" I called over my shoulder, basically already in Stiles' jeep.

It took a few moments, probably because Stiles was trying to be polite and salvage what little he could for Scott, but finally he climbed into the jeep and shut the door. He sighed and I nodded, and we both simply sat in silence for a few moments, staring out the windshield.

"So…" I murmured. "What now?"

Stiles sighed again. "Uh—well… Allison is okay… Scott's on the loose… Derek is, who knows where," He waved his hand around and shook his head, sighing for the third time in under a minute. "It's still pretty early—" I looked down at the clock on his dash and saw it was a little past midnight, and I turned to frown at him, "By werewolf standards," He shrugged, and I immediately nodded.

"Oh, well in that case yeah," I shrugged back at him and we laughed. I sighed and I ran a hand over my hair, which probably looked like a hot mess by now. "Well… you can go home if you want."

He gave me a look like I'd suddenly spat on him. "No way, what? We have to find Scott!"

"Oh, no, I know! I know _I'm_ going to look for him, I'm just saying, I mean—" I shrugged and glanced away, squirming under Stiles' almost offended gaze. "He's been a jackass to you lately, so I would understand if you just want to go get some sleep, and let me worry about it for tonight." He stared at me, confused, so I tried again. "I'm just trying to let you know that this is _optional_ for you. Like, you don't _have_ to do anything if you don't feel up to it tonight. I mean… no one would blame you. He's my brother, I have to look for him; _you_ don't. I mean—you don't owe him anything. You've already gone above and beyond!"

"Okay, okay, _stop_ ," Stiles' hands were flapping wildly, as if he could pick my words out of the air and toss them out the window, and he looked at me like I was delusional. "I don't know how many times I'll have to say this before it sinks in for you, but Scott is my brother, too. I mean that. He's closer to me than anyone in the world, besides my dad. And there's something _seriously_ wrong with him."

I swallowed and looked down at my lap, my own worries suddenly rushing to the surface. The frantic search for Allison had stemmed my concern, but his words brought them rushing back up like a magnet.

"I can't—there's no way I could sit still knowing that something could be _wrong,_ that he could be injured, or who knows what—meanwhile I'm pacing the floor of my room… that would be hell on earth for me." He grabbed his steering wheel and leaned down to start the jeep. "No, we're going to go drive all over Beacon Hills _all night_ if we have to until we find him, but I'm not going home."

Impulsively, I reached out and touched his shoulder, and he paused from putting the jeep in gear to back out of their driveway. He looked down at my hand with a slightly confused frown before focusing on my face, and even though I suddenly felt stiflingly uncomfortable and nervous for some reason, I forced myself not to move my hand as I averted my eyes. My cheeks burned and I cleared my throat awkwardly. "You're a good friend, Stiles." He continued to stare at me, like he was trying to figure out why I was reacting this way. I squeezed his shoulder and glanced briefly back at him, unable to maintain eye contact while I said this. "I feel obligated to say this because I know Scott probably won't, but…" I let go of his shoulder and looked out the window. "You're a really great guy for doing all of this."

The silence was so tight I thought it would strangle the life out of me, and I stared down at one of the Argents' potted plants so intensely I thought I might shatter it with my mind. My heart thrummed in my ears and my palms felt sweaty, and I thought my stomach probably either shrank and disappeared, or flew off from all the butterflies that were flapping around inside it at the moment. It almost startled me when the jeep suddenly started moving. I peeked over at Stiles to see him clearing his throat and brushing at his nose restlessly, and I froze briefly when I saw his cheeks were heated with pink and he was looking anywhere but at me.

And suddenly it became much easier to breathe. Knowing that this made him—uncomfortable, in the same way that it affected me, somehow made this whole thing much… easier. My heart lifted, dissipating any humiliation I had as I turned to look out the window. And I smiled.

* * *

"I don't know what else to do!"

"You can't call your _dad_ , Stiles!"

"Well, what do you suggest?" Stiles cried, looking between the road and me. The morning sun lit the pavement of the road like a backdrop to some beautiful movie, but this moment was far from beautiful. "I'm open to other options!"

My mouth floundered as I looked out the window, seeing all the limbs of the trees pass as we drove by. We had combed every inch of Beacon Hills last night; there was nowhere left to go, and now we were drifting aimlessly towards the preserve.

"I don't know!" I finally admitted, still frustrated and frantic. "But what are you even planning to tell your dad?"

"The truth! That Scott's missing!" He said. "If we go back to your house and he still isn't home, I'll _have_ to call. We can't find him and we're _worried_ about him. We've been looking all night and he's still nowhere to be seen!"

I paused to take a breath before speaking, measuring my words carefully. "Stiles, the truth is that our friend, my _brother_ —shape shifted into a mythical creature and disappeared in a fit of rage last night. How can we explain him taking off? What— _how_ —I mean, I'm honestly trying to think of a way we can spin this to where both of our parents buy it, and I'm sorry to say this but I keep coming up short!"

"I know! But what can we do? We're just two people, Audrey! With really limited resources."

"Well—let's split up, or something," I said, and Stiles paused to consider this. "The preserve is _huge_. Maybe if we split up, we can cover more ground and find him faster."

Stiles worried his lip and stared out at the road. His shoulders had slumped, and it looked like it went against every grain of his being, but he seemed like he would end up caving. "Wait— _wait!"_ He suddenly cried, lunging forward to squint out the window. "What's that!?"

I frowned and looked outside, up the road a distance where it looked like there was a figure walking. "That's… is that him?" I glanced excitedly back at Stiles, and he was already nodding vehemently and speeding up to pull alongside him. "Holy shit! Thank god—oh my god, Stiles!"

He nodded at me. "I know!"

"We almost called your _dad_ , dude," I laughed, and he nodded.

"I _know_."

When we pulled up next to Scott, I rolled down the window and stuck my head out. "Hey, dumbass!" I screamed, and Stiles snorted in surprise behind me as Scott whirled on his heels. He gawked at me and I shoved the door open to leap out. "Don't _ever_ do this ever again!" I rushed him and threw my arms around his neck, planting a quick kiss to the side of his head before pulling away to worry over him. "Where have you _been_ —what're you doing out here?" I gasped and reached down to grab his wrist. "What's wrong with your arm!?"

"There's something wrong with his arm?" Stiles called from behind us, leaning over the passenger seat to get a better look. "What's wrong with his arm?"

"He's a dumbass and he cut it or something!" I called back, shaking my head at him.

"It's a long story," Scott sighed, letting out a breathy laugh as I threw my arm over his shoulders and dragged him back to the jeep like I was gonna give him a noogie.

"You're such a _dumbass_ , have I told you that lately?"

"Once or twice, yeah," Stiles nodded, and I smirked at him as I pushed Scott aside to climb into the backseat.

"Well the good news is, you have super healing, so your arm should be good as new pretty soon, right?" Laying my arms across the seat between them, I propped my chin my hands and tilted my head at Scott, who was suspiciously quiet and moody.

"What happened, man?" Stiles asked, a rare tone of seriousness lacing his voice.

"Did you find Allison?" Scott asked anxiously, turning in his seat to look between both of us.

Stiles and I simultaneously had strokes. Well—not literally—but we seriously did both throw our head back in frustration and practically growl at Scott.

" _Dude_ , we've been out combing Beacon Hills for you all night, and we _finally_ find you shirtless and injured on the side of the road, and first thing you have to say to us is _Did you find Allison?"_ Scott unabashedly stared at me, as if waiting to hear an answer, and I promptly smacked the side of his head. "Idiot!"

"I think you mean _dumbass_." Stiles grumbled, loosening his tie with a frustrated expression on his face. Scott started to say something, but Stiles brushed him off. " _Yeah_ , man, we found Allison. She's fine. Now, can you tell us what happened? Before Audrey gouges your eyes out and gets blood all over my jeep, please?"

Scott sighed and clutched at his arm. He sank down and launched into the amazing, gripping tale of swashbuckling thieves and vigilantes—just kidding. About the swashbuckling thieves. The thieves were actually _Derek Hale_ , who lured Scott out to the preserve with Allison's jacket to tell him… basically, that the bite is a _gift_ more or less. But the vigilantes are real, apparently, and they come in the form of hunters. _Werewolf_ hunters, who showed up to crash the surprise party that Derek was throwing for Scott.

"Well, this is the gift that just keeps on giving, isn't it?" I said dryly, looking between Stiles and Scott. I reached down to the backseat and picked up Stiles' jacket, throwing it on top of Scott's head. "Here, cover up, slut. I'm tired of seeing your boobs."

Scott rolled his eyes and Stiles said, "Are the hunters how you hurt your arm?"

"Yeah, they had crossbows and weird—arrows that exploded light, and stuff," Scott explained as he pulled the jacket on.

"Arrows that exploded light?"

" _Crossbows?"_

"Oh, my god," I sat back and pushed my hands into my hair. "We're living in a medieval fairytale."

"Fairytale?" Stiles snorted, glancing back at me. "That's a little generous, don't you think?"

"Well, technically, the original fairytales are pretty dark and disgusting. Like, Cinderella's stepsisters actually hacked off portions of their feet to try and fit into the glass slipper. And then they had their eyes pecked out by doves."

Scott and Stiles exchanged expressions of disgust, and I nodded thoughtfully. " _Anyways_ …" Stiles cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "So… I think it's safe to say that you're a werewolf now."

Scott stared down at his lap without a word.

"Can we just talk about how fucking weird this town has turned out to be?" I noted, looking between the two of them. Stiles barked out a surprised laugh as he nodded emphatically, and Scott's expression lightened just a fraction. "Like—all these years, we've been complaining about how boring and dead this down is, and it's like fate finally came around to bite us in the ass!"

"Well, it bit _me_ in the ass…" Scott smirked, the first hint of humor he'd shown since stepping foot into the jeep, and Stiles and I let out whoops and patted him on the shoulder.

"That's the spirit!" I laughed, and started to tick things off on my fingers. "I mean, let's review. Turns out there are werewolves here, at least one that we know of." I paused to shrug at both of them. "I never would've guessed that. One of them _bit_ you, and literally the _second_ that you shift, these freakin' hunters come crawling out of the hills like something out of the Frankenstein novel—I mean, all they're missing are pitchforks and torches!"

"Yeah, what's up with that? Have they all been here the _whole_ time, flying just under the radar? How could this have been kept a secret for so long? How could we not have _known_ about all this?" Stiles said, and I threw my hands up.

"How are _we_ gonna keep this a secret?" I asked, letting out a slightly hysterical snort. "We're just a bunch of kids!"

"Hey, we can handle this." Stiles put his hand out as if to silence me and dismiss my negative thoughts, focusing on Scott in particular. " _This_ is manageable."

"Oh yeah?" I challenged, crossing my arms. "How do you propose we _manage_ this condition? It's not like they make _inhalers_ for this."

 _Good thing, too, because he'd probably lose it if they did_. I glanced at Scott, who seemed to slump even lower in his seat, his expression troubled.

"We just have to make sure he doesn't get out during full moons anymore. It'll be easy, we can find a way! I mean—people have been doing this for years, right? Werewolves aren't exactly a new thing. And I don't recall hearing anything about a mauled victim turning up once a month."

And before I could stop myself, I said, "Well, I can think of _one_ mauled victim that turned up recently." The body in the woods.

Both boys flinched as if I'd struck them, and I clamped my mouth shut as regret flooded my body. I looked at Scott, who seemed like he was about to try and bolt from the vehicle, and Stiles' grip on the steering wheel turned knuckle white.

"Look, it's not gonna be like that, okay?" Stiles glanced at Scott vehemently. "You're not some bloodthirsty killer, Scott. You don't have to worry about that! We're _alright_. We'll get through this."

Scott remained suspiciously quiet; his arms crossed as he sank even lower in the corner. A silence crept over us, and I found myself wishing I could somehow steal the words I'd poisoned the air with. I sighed and looked down at my hands, at my nails that had been chewed down to the stubs. Apparently, I'd done that last night, and I didn't realize it until just now.

"You know what worries me the most, though?" Scott suddenly said, his voice dejected and pouty. Stiles sent him a loaded glance.

"If you say Allison, I'm gonna punch you in the head."

"She probably _hates_ me now…" He whined, and I almost went into convulsions in the back seat as Stiles let out a frustrated sigh. Speechless, I thought to maybe let Stiles handle this one since anything I had to say would be even worse than the comment I made about the body in the woods.

"I doubt that..." Stiles weakly tried, and Scott sighed forlornly, gazing out the windshield. My eye twitched. "But you might wanna come up with a pretty amazing apology."

Unable to resist, I sat forward to peer at Scott. "Yeah, something like, _Sorry, Allison, I had to cut our date short because I had the insatiable desire to go howl at the moon and chase my tail."_ Scott sighed and rolled his eyes in annoyance, but I didn't stop there. "Actually I think the excuse I came up with was pretty clever."

Scott perked up and whipped his head around to gawk at me. "What'd you tell her!?"

"That you had an asthma attack."

"I guess I could work with that." Scott sighed. "It's not a total disaster… thanks for going to check on her for me, guys," He added, and we both waved him off.

"It was nothing." Stiles said.

"Yeah, you owe us one," I shrugged, earning a glare from Stiles and a sigh from Scott. I looked at Stiles, trying to silently fight off his glare, but he only fixed me with an even harsher one, so I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Just joking, Scott. If I were in your position I would expect you to do the same thing, so… you know. Whatever."

Stiles nodded approvingly at me and looked away, and I sat back in my seat and crossed my arms as Scott added something else about Allison.

* * *

 _ **Yeee! The first full moon is done... enough with the research and denial... right?**_

 _ **We're All M-M-Mad Here:**_ _ **Have**_ _ **I mentioned that I love your pen name? Because I definitely do. Really cool, bro :) I know exactly what you mean about what you can usually expect from a fic with Scott's sister! I'm hoping to keep my fic a little more unique than those... Things will not come easily for Audrey. I'm not saying it's gonna all be one huge dramatic disaster after another, but I'm not just gonna hand life to her on a silver platter either. How are you feeling about the ships now after the new chapter?**_

 _ **orionastro:**_ _ **Thank you again! There was some more Derek interaction, did you like it!? It's still really brief at this point, but that fits with the show. Their interactions will become longer and more entertaining as time goes on. That's a good thought about Scott's anchor!**_

 _ **Emily:**_ _ **HI! Welcome to my story and thank you for the lovely review :D ... why do I feel like I just welcomed you into my home and thanked you for the lovely flowers? LOL. Yes, welcome to my mind palace, in which Teen Wolf characters run rampant... ANYWAYS. I'm happy to learn that my story doesn't suck XD XD XD Lol that's always good to hear! I hope you liked the new chapter :)**_

 _ **Hurricane.'97:**_ _ **We've discussed your reviews at length already but I didn't wanna leave you out here. That'd be terribly rude. Um.. thank you for being a beautiful soul :D Hope you liked the new chapter!**_


	6. Chapter 5

**_This monster of a chapter was requested by the lovely_** Hurricane.'97 ** _! She wanted to see some more sibling bonding._**

 ** _Actually, one part of this chapter makes me REALLLYYY nervous! I've NEVER done it before so please review!_**

* * *

I picked the note off the fridge and sighed. Mom went in early and apparently took another late shift, which means Scott and I would have to fend for our self for today. As soon as we got in this morning, Scott trudged straight upstairs and declared he was going to bed.

I'm worried about him. I can tell he's letting all of this get to him—the werewolf drama, and then there's the Allison drama. If I know Scott, which I do, all of this seems like the end of the world to him.

I looked around the silent kitchen and tapped my fingers restlessly against the counter. The clock on the stove read eleven-thirty in the morning. There was still the entire rest of the day to go. I'm the farthest from tired that I've been in a while—I mean, to be honest, my constant mood is typically _I could go for a nap right about now_.

But I'm practically bouncing off the walls. My nerves are frayed from the emotional rollercoaster I've been stuck on for the past two days. I haven't slept all night, but I felt like picking at something, or crawling up the walls, and I really wanted to check on Scott.

I grunted out a sigh and smacked my fist into the counter, shoving away to bound towards the stairs. I made my way over to Scott's door and stopped myself just before bursting in. Hell, I'm worried about him, but I wouldn't wanna barge in on anything… _indecent_ , shall we say. "Scott!" I tilted my head and listened for movement coming from inside. I lifted my fist and pounded against it, miming the classic-police knock. "Are you asleep?"

I heard a muffled thud against the door and flinched away in instinct. A mental image of Scott grumbling and throwing his pillow at the door flashed through my mind, and I smirked and pressed against the door again. "Is that a no?"

"Go away!" He grunted. "I'm tired, Audrey."

"No," I said, looking down at the floor. "You're sad. Or… wallowing. Yeah, that's it! You're _wallowing_."

"I'm not _wallowing_ ," He scoffed, his voice barely perceptible through the door.

"What?" I asked, even though I could at least manage to make out what he was saying. "I can't hear you. Speak up!" I paused as if to listen to him say something else. "Scott, I can't hear you when you mumble like that!"

"I didn't _say_ anything—"

"That's it! I'm coming in, cover up, put the lotion and tissues away—" I opened the door to find him face down on his bed. The blankets were still made and the pillows were essentially untouched, save for the one lying at the foot of the door. I smirked and swiped it up. "Oh, Scott— _dude_. You call _this_ not wallowing?"

"Get. Out." He said, his voice muffled because his face was still pressed into the mattress.

"Oh-ho-ho," I teasingly pouted, a mock-sympathetic lip jutting out. "You're pitiful." He grunted. "You're like a kicked puppy!" He groaned in annoyance, shooing me away with his hand. "Yeah, you better get used to those dog references. There will be _many_ of them to come."

I strode forward and plopped myself onto his bed next to him, patting his ankle as I tossed the pillow on the bed behind me. His shoes were still on and he didn't have a shirt on. Basically, everything about him suggested that he'd disconnected, jettisoned up here, and crash-landed on his bed.

"Audrey," Scott muttered, finally lifting his face to show me his distraught puppy-eyes. "I get what you're trying to do, but please… leave me alone."

I frowned at him, my heart literally tugging painfully at the sight of his sad, dejected little face, and I sighed. "Well… if that's really what you want…"

"It _really_ is." He said, plopping his face back into his bed and dragging a pillow over to clutch in his arms. I sat and watched him for about ten more seconds, before sighing out a final comment and retreating from his room.

I stepped into the hall and put my hands on my hips, tapping my foot agitatedly. I racked my brain for something to do—either something to occupy my time, or something to draw Scott out of his self-imposed exile.

And then it hit me. I gasped as the epiphany struck me like a freight train and dashed down the hall to my room, before returning to Scott's room as fast as I could humanly manage. I barreled inside and let out a triumphant cry. "Fear not!" I declared, hopping onto his bed next to him and causing him to bounce. "I _have_ the solution."

"Audrey," Scott snapped into his pillow, making fists with his hands as he visibly restrained himself from pushing me forcibly out of his room. He lifted his head and sent me a fire-filled look, "I said _get out_ —"

His mouth hung open as he stared at what lay in my open palms. I held my hands up like the monkey does to Simba in the Lion King, my eyes filled with reverent awe. "What do you say?" I murmured, my voice low. "Care to lose your cares with me?"

And in my palms lay two joints. Scott was watching it with a guarded expression, slowly rising from the bed to sit upright. "But… I don't know, Audrey..." His eyes were hesitant, but glued to the drugs as he sat there. "The last time I did it, I couldn't stop coughing—"

"That's the best part!" I smiled, and Scott frowned at me. " _You_ don't have asthma anymore."

Silence reigned queen in his room as all of this new information soaked in, and his eyes slowly lit up. He even smiled a little and crossed his legs. "Do you think it'll work?"

I frowned at him. "Whaddya mean? Of _course_ it'll work. It _better_ work! I'll be super pissed at Danny if—"

"I mean, do you think it'll work for _me?_ " Scott clarified, touching his hand to his chest. "Because I'm—well… you know."

"A werewolf?" I said, raising my eyebrows pointedly at him. "Okay, two things. _One_ , you're going to have to get used to saying that word, because it's _kind_ of important. It's like... sex. If you can't say the word, you're probably not ready to have it. Or, rather, in this case, _be_ it. And _you_ don't exactly have a choice! It's time to nut up and be ready." Scott stiffened and looked like he had something biting to retort, but I spoke over him. "Two…this will help with that." Scott deflated as he looked at the joints and glanced up at my face hesitantly. I could tell he was already in, but trying to find reasons to talk himself out of it. "As far as whether or not it'll work… there's only one way to find out."

Scott sighed and turned around to reach for his nightstand, and I threw my hands up with a whoop. He shook his head and retrieved a small packet of matches. Having a bic lighter in his room would probably be too suspicious to mom, so he kept a book of matches while I hid the weed. Well, to be fair, I was the one who always procured the substance. It wouldn't be fair for him to have to conceal it in his room and risk getting caught. "When did you get these?"

"Oh, I had them when we smoked that first time. They're the only two left." I said, watching as Scott lit a match. I gasped and suddenly reached out to grab his wrist, mentally noting that his arm had already healed. "Wait!" He frowned at me. "We can't do it in here…"

"Right!" He sighed, lowering the matches to his lap and looking around. He shook out the lit one and tossed the burnt stick onto his nightstand; next to a half-used candle we'd strategically placed there for just such an occasion. "So… where should we go?"

I bitterly smirked. "I guess the woods are out of the question, right?" Scott sent me a dry look and I sighed and frowned down at the joints thoughtfully. Suddenly, as if our minds were connected, we gasped in unison and shouted, "The back yard!"

* * *

Our back yard is nice because we have a super tall privacy fence. There's a trampoline, which we both currently sat on, but other than that nothing. The only downside to this plan is that the neighbors are so close. There's always the chance that they would catch the scent if they're downwind from us, but there's not really any way to prove we were the source anyways. At least, not without going to door to door, or perhaps getting a ladder and peeking over the top of the fence to spy on us.

"Do you think Mrs. Marshall has a ladder?" I asked, passing the joint back to Scott. I didn't feel high yet, but most of the joint was gone and my eyes were squinted like I was trying to stay awake, so knew I was definitely stoned. I doubted we'd need that second joint.

Scott scoffed and frowned at me, having put on a shirt and jacket, and brought the joint up to his mouth to take a hit. He blew the smoke out smoothly and looked at me to exchange a giddy smile. We were both so relieved to find that he could now smoke, for the first time, without having to worry about having an asthma attack or hacking up a lung in the process. I took a long drink from the water bottle we'd brought outside with us and passed it to him when he finished.

He cleared his throat because even without the asthma, the smoke still burned your throat and made your mouth extremely dry. He sighed and squinted at me, and I laughed at the expression on his face. He smiled deliriously back at me and finally shrugged. "Probably," He said, and for a second I was confused about what he was talking about. "Most people do." It took me a moment to recall the question I'd just asked him, and I took in a deep breath of clean air.

"Well you don't think she'd try to spy on us, right?"

"That's just the weed talking." Scott waved, shaking his head. "You're being paranoid."

"You know what? You're _right_."

Scott sighed and lay back on the trampoline. "Audrey…" He said, his voice suddenly miserable. "What do I do? I mean—what can I do?" He brought his hands up to his face and sighed, turning on his side.

I reached forward and patted his arm. "Scott, stop. You're going to worry yourself to death, man," I said, my mouth feeling strange and numb as I tried to get the words out. The world slipped a little, like I was standing on a ski slope, and I blinked heavily as the THC finally hit me. My hearing grew funny and far away. "There's nothing to be done about anything now. It's out of our hands. You're a werewolf."

"I'm _so_ freaked out though!" He admitted, letting his hands fall so he could show me his uncharacteristically vulnerable face. "I can't figure out what to do!"

"Scott, why does this even have to be a bad thing?" I asked, looking down at the joint. I was growing tired of holding it.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—dude, you're _first string_." I said, and smiled as Scott's face immediately lit up with excitement. "That's something you've wanted for a really long time. And now, because of this, you have it. And Allison is going to forgive you." I waved my hand in the air as if it was already decided. "You don't have to worry about that. Coming from a chick's stand-point, the fact that Stiles and I went to her _house_ to reassure her that you didn't ditch her says a lot. And as far as Allison knows, your _friend_ , Derek, gave her a ride home. So it's not like you left her stranded, either."

"But it would've been better if _I_ had been the one to give her a ride home." Scott miserably groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Not some… creepy guy. I just feel _so_ bad."

I sighed and rolled my eyes to the sky. "Scott, man, you're seriously killing my good vibes. You gotta cut this shit out! I dragged you out of your room so you _wouldn't_ wallow."

"Well I can't help it," He rolled his head to the side to peek at me from the corner of his eye. "I mean—what can I do?"

"What can I do, what can I do," I mocked, making my voice sound like I was pathetically sobbing, quoting one of our favorite movies. _The Godfather_. I reached forward to gently smack the side of his face, and he smirked as he ducked out of my reach. "You can act like a _man!"_

Scott laughed and nodded. "Okay, all right… point made." He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his hair. "Okay. Now what?"

I looked around the yard and took one last hit. I held the smoke in my lungs for as long as I could, looking up to Scott and offering him the joint, and he took it as I sputtered out a cough. I leaned over the side of the trampoline and continued to choke, reaching blindly for the bottle of water.

Scott guided the bottle into my hand and I gasped as I cracked it open and took a deep gulp. I sat back up and swiped at my watering eyes, biting back a smile at his amused expression.

"You good?" He asked, and I nodded.

"Okay." I breathed, crawling over to climb off the trampoline. "Let's go!"

"Where are we going?" Scott asked, stubbing the joint out on the metal edge of the trampoline.

"We are going to the hardware store." I declared, my hands on my hips. "Doesn't that sound fun?"

Scott paused to consider this, feet hanging over the side of the trampoline. He blinked up at me. "Not really, no."

I laughed and shrugged exaggeratedly. "Well _hell_ , Scott! I gotta replace those stupid flowerpots!"

"Oh, yeah! You haven't done that yet?" We made our way to the back door and stepped into the house. "Mom's probably pissed."

"Actually, she hasn't said anything to me yet," I said, and our silent look emphasized the _yet_. "But I don't wanna push it."

"Ohh," Scott suddenly groaned, leaning into the counter. "You know what sounds good? Cheese puffs."

I gasped and nodded excitedly. "Totally! Do we have some?"

"Maybe!" He walked over to the pantry and opened the door, peeking in. I trailed slowly behind him, the room moving even slower than I was moving as I passed through. "What's this?"

"Looks like pig's feet." I said without looking, and snickered when he let out a disgusted cry and threw it back on a shelf.

"OH!" He gasped. "Oreos…"

"We need ice cream to go with that." I pointed up at him and his eyes widened as he nodded enthusiastically.

"That sounds amazing, _ugh_ , some cold ice cream… you know what, though? I don't think we have any."

I threw my head back and let out a dramatic wail, pressing my face into a plastic bag. "Ice cream," I jokingly sobbed, and Scott snapped his fingers.

"Let's go to the dollar store!" He gasped. "They probably have all _kinds_ of flavors."

"Oh, my gosh," I sighed. "You're so smart."

"When it comes to food, I don't mess around." He declared in an abruptly sober voice.

"Okay, okay," I waved my hands and pushed him into the kitchen. "I have like, forty bucks. Let's go buy some ice cream."

"And beef jerky!"

" _Ew_ ," I sneered. "No way, dude."

He pouted as we trudged out the front door. "But I want some!"

"We'll see." I sighed, and suddenly looked at Scott with wide eyes. He was staring at me in horror and I glanced briefly away. "…I sounded just like mom right then, didn't I?" He silently nodded, his expression frozen on his face. I shuddered and shut the door behind us. "Anyways! Do you think you can ride your bike right now?"

Scott gasped, his hand smacking his forehead. "The bike!" He looked up at me with wide eyes. "We forgot it at school!"

I burst out laughing and covered my mouth with my hands. "We're gonna have to walk," I slurred, grabbing onto Scott's arm to hook around mine. "Like a buncha hitch hikin' hobos or somethin'…"

"All we need are sticks and a bandana to wrap our stuff in." He snorted, and I took large, exaggerated steps and we made our way down to the sidewalk.

It was supposed to be me marching, but I'm not sure if it turned out that way because I was hanging onto Scott's arm as I did so. "Hi ho! Hi ho! It's off to work we go…" Scott laughed and blew out his mouth, steering me left when I tried to go right, and I snorted at my mistake as he feebly tried to whistle the rest of the tune. "You sound like a… like a…. like when a whale sprays water out of its blowhole!"

Scott erupted into loud, boisterous laughter, as if this was the funniest thing he'd heard since he'd been conceived. "A blowhole!" He cried, grabbing my shoulder as he literally bent at the waist. "That's _so_ funny!"

Suddenly, a really angry beast came tearing down someone's walk and headed straight for us. Scott and I both let out sharp gasps and I actually screamed as I stumbled away, and the massive dog was jerked when it abruptly reached the end of its chain just before it hit Scott's leg.

It snarled and snapped, trying as hard as it could to attack Scott, the chain giving a little. It seemed ready to break, and we screamed as we both took off at dead sprints in the opposite direction. "What the _fuck!"_ I screeched, looking behind me as I ran as fast as my legs would allow down the sidewalk. The dog was still barking at us, still trying to get free of its chains, so we didn't stop running until we reached the end of the block.

Or… I think it was the end of the block. I sat upright and whirled around, trying to identify my surroundings. Scott had led the way, taking many twists and turns to throw the beast off our trail, and now it looked like we'd ran straight into town somehow. I became extremely confused, and really paranoid as my heart jumped into my throat. "Scott—Scott, where are we?"

I turned to look at him, but he wasn't there. And that's when I really panicked. Because I thought we'd run to the end of the block, but now I'm standing on an unfamiliar street or something, and Scott's nowhere to be seen! I gasped and whirled all around. "Scott!"

Crap. Had I just lost my brother?

* * *

The phone rang, and rang, and rang, and when his voicemail popped up again I almost threw the damn thing on the ground in a fashion that would make Andy Samberg proud. I twisted my fingers into my hair and glanced nervously around me. The streets were pretty busy; traffic was heavy and a lot of pedestrians were out and about. None of them were paying me much attention, which was good considering my current condition.

Let's review. I'm more stoned than a rock, my werewolf brother is missing, he won't answer his phone, and I'm _pretty sure_ I'm lost. My hands shook and my heart was racing as I finally dialed a new number.

I gasped in panicked breaths until Stiles _finally_ picked up. "Hello?" His voice was groggy and thick with sleep.

"Oh, thank god!" I cried, glancing down the road for any sign of Scott at all.

"Audrey?" Stiles frowned, his voice immediately clearing up. I could hear something over the line rustling. "W-What's going on?"

"I can't find Scott anywhere, and I'm freaking out!"

"What? What are you talking about?!" Stiles asked, his tone escalating as I went on. "We found him this morning! Did he take off again?"

" _Yes!_ I mean, _no!_ I mean, technically!?"

"What?!" He screeched.

"I don't know!"

"Where are you?!"

"I-I don't know!" I looked up and saw an unfamiliar restaurant in front of me. "There's a sign, but I can't read Chinese!"

" _What!?_ "

"I'm in town, and I lost Scott! There was this dog chasing us, and we freaked out and took off because it was trying to attack us, but then we must have gotten split up and now I can't find him anywhere and I have no idea where I'm at!"

"What—what dog? You know what! Never mind. What street are you on?" I heard the sound of a door closing and wind crackled over the speaker.

"Are you coming?" I gasped, hope rising in my chest.

"Yeah, if you _tell me_ where to go!"

"Oh, my god," I breathed, literal tears springing to my eyes. "Thank you so much! I'm serious, Stiles, you don't know how much this means to me! I thought I was gonna die, or Scott was gonna die, or I was gonna lose him forever—and how would I even tell my mom that?! Oh, god, thank god—"

"What? Audrey!" Stiles persisted. "Where are you?"

"Oh!" I rushed away from the wall I'd been leaning on and looked down at a stop light. "Uhh—Moffit and Central? I think that's what it says. Why are the words so _tiny?_ "

"On my way." And with that, the line cut out. I sighed and dropped my phone from my ear, squinting up at the huge, yellow sign of the foreign restaurant. It looked like Chinese characters, but honestly it could be characters from any language at all. I can manage to speak some broken Spanish but that's basically it.

The delicious smell of garlic wafted down the street. I turned and spotted Jerry's Pizza Grinder, and gasped. "Ohhhh," I realized, looking down the street and seeing the car wash. I snorted and covered my mouth. "Oh! _Central!_ I'm on _Central!"_

I sighed and shook my head at myself. "Stiles is gonna lose his shit when he realizes where I'm at." I sighed again, breathing in calm, relieved air as my heart stopped sputtering quite so much. If I'm near Jerry's Pizza Grinder, I'm not all that far from home after all. It's about a five-minute bike ride from the house. The overwhelming urge to have some garlic knots hit me and I brought my thumb up to my mouth as I contemplated how stupid that would be.

I weighed how pissed Stiles would be that I'd moved against how perfect those garlic knots would taste, and ultimately decided to risk Stiles' wrath. I mean, either way, he's going to breathe fire on me because I'm not lost at all. At least this way I'll have garlic knots to give him as a peace offering.

* * *

Stiles Stilinski started his jeep and, for the second time in forty-eight hours, ran through his head all the possible places in Beacon Hills that Scott could have disappeared to. This time he had a distinct advantage because he'd been given an approximate street corner.

 _Moffit and Central._ It's a starting point—a luxury he and Audrey hadn't been afforded last night. He knew the streets of Beacon Hills better than most high schoolers because he memorized all of the routes his dad patrolled from a very young age, so he could easily picture Central. It was a branch of the main strip in Beacon Hills, where restaurants, taverns, and a cheap grocery store could be found. If Central is followed all the way to the end, it turns into Broadway, where you can then either go all the way down to the high school, or in the other direction, all the way down to where Scott and Audrey live.

This seems to be the easiest explanation for how they ended up there. A light turned yellow, and without thinking, his foot smashed the break pedal into the floor of his jeep. The tires squealed as he fishtailed to a stop—but when he was taught to drive, one thing his dad beat into him from the first moment he was behind the wheel was to always _stop_ when a light turned yellow. It was a habit he was trying to stray from because it was definitely overly cautious, but you know what they say. Old habits die hard.

Still, Scott's MIA—again—and Audrey is freaking out on some street corner waiting for him. So to pass the time he reached over to his police radio and cranked it up, thinking that if anything out of the ordinary was happening and Scott or Audrey were involved, he'd hear it first over these airways.

A few codes were called out—domestic disputes and a traffic violation—but nothing involving suspicious persons or… well… there isn't exactly a code for supernatural massacre, but he supposed it would fall closer to a 240, 242, or 594, and almost definitely a 390 thrown would be in the mix somewhere. Basically, codes to say there's an assault, battery, or malicious mischief. The 390 is for public intoxication, which would be a natural conclusion for an officer to draw if they saw Scott acting strangely.

A car horn split the calm afternoon behind him—and he jumped in his seat to see that the light had turned green. He waved a nervous, twitchy hand to apologize to the disgruntled driver and pulled down the street. He went pretty close to the speed limit as he cruised down Central—his eyes scanning the sidewalks, parking lots and alleyways for Audrey.

His heart was still thrumming in his chest, and his confusion and annoyance spiked up another ten degrees when it became apparent that Audrey had _obviously_ not done as Stiles asked. He found Moffit Street pretty quickly, very much in the opposite direction of their house, and even spotted the Chinese restaurant she'd been talking about.

Stiles pulled over to park in front of that restaurant. He reached over to flick the radio off and climbed out of the jeep, slamming the door shut just like he'd done the night before when he had sped over to Allison's house.

And like the night before, his rusted door popped back open. He almost fell on the ground as he scrambled to retrace his path and hold the door shut as a car passed, blaring its horn at him.

At this point, his heart was racing so fast, he felt like he'd taken three Adderall and was deep in an intense game of Just Dance II in his room. He tried to slide over his hood to cut to the sidewalk faster and ended up falling off, springing up as he stumbled onto the sidewalk. He stopped and looked up at the bright yellow sign of the Chinese restaurant. From where he stood, he couldn't see Audrey anywhere inside. He hurried forward and cupped his hands on the glass of the huge window, glancing over a few customers and funny looks thrown at him by workers from inside—but no Audrey.

Stiles sighed and quickly backed away, looking up and down the street. He went to peek down the alley that ran just beside the restaurant, but that was empty too, so he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried calling Audrey.

As he listened to the phone ring, he started down the sidewalk—asking himself: if he were Audrey, where would he go? Had she seen Scott? Or had she heard something? The only thing that he could think was that she'd seen him run by, or seen something that led her to believe her brother was nearby. She promised she'd stay put. Her voicemail picked up and he cursed and ground to a halt, his hand pressing into his forehead.

" _Audrey_ ," He ground out, looking up and down the street helplessly. "I'm at Central and Moffit! Where are you!? Call me back!" Stiles sighed again and started to hang up, thought of something else, and started to add something to the message when he heard a loud thudding.

He turned around and immediately recognized the window of Jerry's Pizza Grinder. And there, farther down the window, Audrey pounded her fist on the glass like a six year old spotting her best friend. She had a huge smile on her face and Stiles threw his hands up and started towards her. "Wha— _Audrey!"_ He snapped, and then his jaw dropped and he thought he might pass out from exasperation when he saw Scott sitting across from her.

Audrey reached over to smack Scott's shoulder, and Scott turned to follow her finger. When he spotted Stiles, he dropped the pizza from his mouth and then they were both waving their hands at him with identical, huge, dopey smiles on their faces. " _What the hell_ , guys!" Stiles exclaimed, and they hesitated and sent him exaggerated shrugs. _We can't hear you_ , they mimed, and Scott said something to Audrey that distracted her and made her laugh. They turned away from him to add something else, laughed again, and left Stiles sputtering at them. He was _pissed_. He was confused, but he was so _angry!_ What the hell is happening? Why do they look so happy and carefree when only _minutes_ ago Audrey had called him in a panic?

He banged on the window now, grabbing their attention and almost seeming to startle them. Audrey jumped like she'd forgotten he was there at all, and then Scott looked back at Stiles and waved quickly to tell him to come inside.

Stiles' hands flashed out crossly, and he started to say something before realizing it was pointless because they couldn't hear him. He turned on his heel and hurried down the sidewalk, ripping the front door open and making the bell all but detach from the handle.

It was mid-afternoon, about one o'clock sharp—so it was in between the lunch rush and the lull that he knew probably happened before the dinner crowd came. Still, he nearly ran into two customers and a server carrying a huge tray of what smelled like anchovy pizza before he made it to Scott and Audrey's side of the restaurant.

"—there's just like, _so many_ kinds, you know?" Audrey laughed, her voice strangely low and fluid.

Stiles stomped quickly towards them and watched as Scott nodded at her like she was preaching the word of God at him. "You're so right! It's like— _how_ do we choose?" He glanced up and did a double-take upon seeing Stiles. "Oh, my god! Stiles! What are you doing here?" He asked, rising from his seat with his arms out like he hadn't seen him in years. Scott started towards him like he was going in for a hug, and Stiles frowned and sent Audrey an _extremely_ confused expression as he hesitantly patted Scott's back, his mouth hanging open.

Scott pulled away and held him by the shoulders, beaming at him with his eyes hooded, and his laughs came out breathy and broken. His head drooped to the side and he fixed his stare on something behind Stiles. "What's _that?_ " Scott picked up a small glass jar of Parmesan cheese, thrusting it in Audrey's face like it was gold. _"Look!_ What the hell is this? How come _that_ booth has it and _ours_ doesn't?"

"Aw, wow!" Audrey breathed, blinking owlishly at the cheese. She took it from her brother's hand and pursed her lips, shrugging. "I don't know, but we definitely need more Parmesan cheese in our lives." Scott nodded rapidly and slid back into his seat across from her.

She then began to sprinkle an absurd amount over the top of her already _extra_ cheesy pizza—and it was then that Stiles took note of what lay on their table.

An entire smorgasbord's smorgasbord was presented. It's like they ordered everything off the menu, and then special ordered a couple things. "Guys—what the heck is all this?!"

"Audrey, gimme some of that," Scott said, taking the Parmesan cheese from his sister's hand. She started to protest and he pointed down at her pizza. "You've got, like, cheese Everest on your freakin' pizza! It's my turn with the parm." Audrey sighed and nodded, waving her hand dismissively like a queen. Scott snorted. "Rule number six of the Grinder's Lunch Club: Don't hog the parm."

"Alright, alright," Audrey shook her head as she lifted the pizza to her face and took a massive bite out of it. She glanced up at Stiles as she moaned and basically reenacted the scene from Easy A when Emma Stone smelled her plate of lobster. "Yum." She quoted around a mouthful of pizza.

" _Hey_ ," He snapped, leaning down to smack the table rapidly in a desperate attempt to catch their attention. "Hey, hey, hey, _guys!_ " They looked at his hand with globe-sized eyes, their cheeks bulging with food as they seemed to look all over the table for the source of the banging.

"Whoa, whoa, _dude_ ," Audrey drawled, reaching out to latch onto Stiles' wrist. She looked up at him from under her lashes like it was the most important thing in the world, and he was stricken with déjà vu. "You need to _relax_ , man."

Stiles' mouth popped open and he drew back, gawking down at the two of them. "Ohhhh," He said, pressing a fist to his forehead. "Oh, my gosh." They watched, enthralled, as he closed his eyes and took a step away to silently smack his fist against his head. "Stupid, Stiles, why didn't you realize it the second you saw them through the window?"

"Hey, what's going on?" Scott asked, suddenly concerned as he raised out of his seat.

"What—what's going _on?_ " Stiles hissed, rushing forward to lean down and berate them. "You're both _high!"_

"We are?" Scott asked, squinting at Audrey, who nodded dramatically at him with a wide smirk. Scott snorted and mirrored his sister's expression. "Trippy."

"What the hell," Stiles breathed, sitting back with his hands on his head. "I feel like I stepped in the Twilight Zone."

"Me too!" Audrey pointed at him with wide eyes, and then—Stiles saw the moment play out before it happened. Audrey turned back to Scott with a wide, lazy grin, and in unison, they said: "Trippy!"

"Oh—dear—god," Stiles muttered, pressing his fist against his nose.

* * *

I watched as Stiles sighed and finally withdrew his fist from his face, visibly calming himself. Everything he did was exaggerated, and in Technicolor as he reached down to pull Scott up by the armpit. "Okay," he said. "Have you guys paid for this?"

"Uh—" Scott looked at me and blinked drearily. "Did we pay?"

I frowned and looked up at the ceiling as I tried to recall. "Uhhhh… I thought you did."

"No—I… did I?" He frowned and looked down at his shoes as he struggled to think. "But I'm broke."

"Oh, that's okay!" I stood and held my purse out to him. "I have forty dollars."

Scott's eyes bulged as he reached out to take the purse from me. " _Thank_ you!"

"Oh, my god!" Stiles said for the thousandth time, swiping his hand down to intercept my purse. He shoved it under his arm and promptly turned on his heel to march away from the booth. Scott and I watched him with identically fascinated expressions, observing as he went straight up to the nearest waiter and asked him something. He pointed towards us and we gasped and quickly turned away.

Feigning casual, Scott tried to whistle again and I rocked on my heels with my hands behind my back. I burst out laughing but tried to hold it in, reaching over to grab Scott's forearm. "Blowhole," I sputtered, and Scott immediately erupted in giggles.

" _Blowhole_ ," He gasped, tilting his head back, and Stiles popped up behind him to grab him by the shoulder. I gasped when Stiles thrust my purse against my stomach, reaching down to grab it without thinking.

"You paid already." He said flatly, dragging Scott towards the door. "They're going to box all of this up, and then we're going."

"But I'm not finished!" I whined, and Scott was quick to agree as he pointed excitedly at me. "I'm still so hungry."

I watched with squinted, sad eyes as the waiter carried a tray of boxes over. He threw me and Scott strange looks as he picked up our plates—most of which were covered in parmesan cheese—and frequently glanced between us and Stiles as he worked.

Scott and I rambled to each other until it was all bagged up, and Stiles sighed and thanked him. He picked up all the bags and turned towards the exit.

"Are you going to carry _all_ of those?" I asked, eyeing the huge armloads that looked to be weighing him down as he marched towards the door.

He dutifully ignored me.

"Aw, you're mad!" I pouted, trailing after him quickly. I looped my arm with Stiles' and leaned my head affectionately on his shoulder, ignoring the bags that bumped against our legs. "Don't be maaad, Stiles," I cooed, and Scott mimicked my actions.

He looped his arm through Stiles' other arm, laying his head on his shoulder. "Yeah, Stiles! Don't be maaad."

Stiles threw his head back and groaned, shaking us off him as he pushed the door open. He held it open for us, waving his head in huge circles as he motioned us through. "Let's go, you're holding up the line!"

"Why thank you," Scott curtseyed, keeping the same character he'd used when he mimicked me. He fluttered his eyes at Stiles and I dissolved with laughter, stumbling forward to lean on Scott as we staggered onto the sidewalk.

"Oh!" Scott gasped, suddenly digging in his pocket while Stiles rambled at us and pointed down the sidewalk somewhere. We ignored him as Scott held a wad of cash. "The flowerpots!"

"Yeah, let's go!"

Stiles fumbled to get in front of us, but Scott only grabbed him around the neck and dragged him along like they were drunken buddies leaving a bar. A small box fell out of one the bags, and I was quick to retrieve it.

"What colors should we get?" I asked, skipping ahead with the box swinging in my hand. "Blue, or green?"

"Our house is white," Scott frowned. I made a face at him.

"So?"

" _So_ , why would we get _green_ flowerpots?"

"To add some color."

"Won't the flowers add color?"

I paused and looked forward with wide eyes. "Wait a second… you're right!"

"No, the only place we're going is _home_." Stiles said, holding his arms out to stop us, the bags swinging like white pendulums. We walked into his arms and he quickly walked against us, herding us around like cattle. "Now, my jeep is—"

"Scott, look!" I cried, pointing at the window the grocery store in front of us. "Ugh, that ice cream looks _so good_ , doesn't it?" I rushed forward to caress the image of the sweet, frozen treat. "We were _just_ saying how good ice cream would taste right now."

"She's right." Scott nodded, sighing at the beautiful image. "We were _just_ saying that."

"No, guys come on! You have more than enough food here, you're not going in to buy ice cream!"

I gasped and my head rolled back to add to the effect. My hand flashed out to silently demand that everyone stop. "So what you're saying… is that there is ice cream for sale… inside there?" I jabbed my finger slowly at the entrance of the grocery store, and Stiles growled and quickly tried to back track.

"No!" He called, as Scott bolted past him. "Guys!"

I giggled and shrugged at him. "You should've kept your mouth shut."

He sighed. "I know…" I turned to go into the store and Stiles called my name. He stepped towards me and spoke with slow, exaggerated words. "I'm going to put all of this in the jeep. When I come back, I'm taking you guys to the jeep, and we are leaving."

I blinked at his serious face and nodded. "Back to the jeep."

"Yes. And then home."

"Home."

"Good. Okay. Don't leave the store, do you hear me?"

I shook my head with wide eyes and traced an X over my chest. "Cross my heart."

His mouth flickered in a grudging smirk and he nodded at me "Okay." He raised his eyebrows and stared at me for two seconds longer before sighing at something he saw in me, and then turned to go down the sidewalk.

I watched him for a few moments and tilted my head. "Huh…" I turned back to the store.

"Audrey!" Stiles screamed, and I whirled back around to look at him. "Act normal! Okay? And just get ice cream." I blinked and nodded my head. "Nothing else, got it? _Ice cream._ "

"Ice cream." I repeated, and he nodded approvingly. "Ice cream…" I turned to trudge into the store, trying to act casual. I straightened my back until it felt as rigid and flat as a wall, drawing my shoulders back and my chin up. My eyes darted around and I made them as wide as I could, not moving my neck. Feeling more prepared, I stepped through the entrance of the grocery store.

 _Okay. So far, so good._

"Hello and welcome to Vern's!" Smiled a man I hadn't seen as I was walking in. I spun around and noticed he had on some sort of store uniform, and quickly turned to keep moving.

"You too!" I called, and when I was a few more steps away I let out a huge sigh. _That was close_. I looked all over, overwhelmed with the possibilities. Sounds of plastic bags rustling, squalling children, and beeping machines filled my mind.

I wandered in the direction that was the most quiet, which happened to be towards the frozen foods. "Ice cream," I muttered, watching all the different colors as I passed them. "Ice cream…" Absently, I wondered where Scott had gone.

"Next." Barked a man's voice, and I jumped. I blinked rapidly and looked down at my feet. I thought I'd been walking, but when I looked back up, I saw the cool, grey-toned display of meat. A heavy-set man with a hairnet stared blankly back at me, looking at me expectantly. I hesitated and looked beside me, to see a woman—apparently waiting in line—behind me, also giving me an expectant look. Am _I_ next?

I blinked widely and looked back at hair-net-man, and he raised his eyebrows impatiently. Hesitantly, I stepped forward.

"What can I get for you today?" He asked, his voice heavily accented with a Spanish lilt. _Oh shit_ _!_

"Uh—well… I'm a vegetarian. So… do you have anything for that?"

He gawked angrily at me, staring as if waiting for me to say I was joking. I gulped and straightened even more, struggling to keep my eyes wide. He snorted derisively. "No. What are you, stupid or somethin'?"

"O-Oh." I stepped away and nodded at him. "Thank you."

The woman watched me like I had two heads as I quickly rushed away, watching them over my shoulder as I sped down the aisle.

My legs ran straight into something, and I gasped and looked down. A miniature human looked up at me, with giant blue eyes and a running, but crusty, nose. He sniffed and I could hear the snot as it crawled back up his head. I sneered down at him and his little face scrunched in what looked like terror.

I stumbled away, quickly rushing off. The little person watched me go as he wandered towards the woman from the counter, and she sent me a dirty look as she placed her hand on his head and scooted him closer.

I shook my head rapidly and finally staggered into the refrigerated foods. Cold, but not _freezing_. What did Stiles say? I picked up a package of chopped celery as I thought. _Stay in the store._

Right! But wait... why can't I leave!? What if they close? Do I have to stay here _forever?_ A man browsing the vegetables gave me a scary look. I drew in a slow breath and made my eyes wide at him, trying to casually pick up a bag of carrots. If I have to stay here, will _he_ be here too?

I turned away and it occurred to me to look for Scott. So, with the celery and carrots in my hand, I started to call for him.

I wandered the store for what _felt_ like years, picking up things that looked good along the way. I struggled to read the back of a bag of chips when Scott suddenly called my name behind me. Beaming at him, I held the bag up and waved with it.

"How'd you beat me here?" He panted, like he'd been running around. I frowned at him and glanced away.

"I've been here for twenty minutes."

He hummed at me and I looked down at his arms. He was holding about six different cartons of ice cream, and I smirked and nodded appreciatively. "Hey, are you ready to go?" He suddenly asked, and I immediately stepped away with a nod. "There's this scary miniature person running around, and I think he's stalking me." He leaned in before I could gasp that I knew who he was talking about. "I think he _knows_ ," He said, his eyes going wide briefly.

"Ohhh, shit," I whispered, and Scott nodded soberly. "Let's go!"

Twenty minutes later, Stiles found us standing in line as the cashier scanned our items. "Whoa! Guys, I said _only ice cream!"_

Scott and I blinked at the pile of groceries that now lay at the end of the line, blinking drearily. Honestly? I'd forgotten what we were doing. I was thinking about the flowerpots again.

Stiles sighed and shoved us aside. "What's the total?"

"So far? One hundred and six dollars and thirty eight cents."

Stiles wheeled around with his arms out and his eyes about to pop out of his head, definitely looking to us to explain that absurd total. Scott and I exchange an innocent glance.

"Well, I mean… Haagen-Dazs is expensive shit."

Stiles rolled his eyes and turned back to the cashier, and I bumped shoulders with Scott and we snickered behind his back. "Just one carton of ice cream," He said. "I'm _really_ sorry about this. I was supposed to take them straight home—they got their wisdom teeth out today."

The cashier frowned at us; probably wondering why our mouths weren't more swollen, but shrugged and told him it was okay.

Stiles sent us a dirty look as he opened his wallet and handed the cashier a bill, telling her to keep the change before apologizing one last time.

He took us essentially by the ears, dragging us out of the store. "I left you two for _five_ minutes!"

"What!" I snorted. "No way, that was like—at least twenty!"

"No!" He cried, flashing his phone screen at me. It read one-thirty. "I _literally_ left you for five minutes!"

"Hah," I giggled. "Dude, my time perception is like… really distorted right now."

"Hmph." He grunted, shaking his head as he pointed to the jeep, which I hadn't realized we were already at. I blinked at Scott and he gestured for me to go first.

Climbing in the back seat, I fumbled to catch the bag of ice cream Stiles tossed at me and then sat back as he and Scott spoke. I almost drifted to sleep, their voices lulling me into a definite tranquil state, but then my brother spoke up.

" _Dude_ ," Scott said, his voice tinged with awe. "My sister called you, and you came running?" He gasped and reached over to grab Stiles' shoulder. "That's _so_ great. I'm serious, that's awesome. _Thank_ you. That really makes me feel better knowing you have my back like that."

Stiles shook his head. "Don't worry about it... I just hope the next time she calls me panicked like that it's not because you're both _stoned_ and paranoid."

"Me too," I chirped from the back seat, smacking my dry lips. "Being paranoid _sucks_."

Stiles sighed as he pulled the jeep to a stop and told us to gather all the bags up. I sat up and tried to get all of them on one arm as the boys turned around to grab some to lighten my load. I briefly bickered with Scott about one of the bags, and before I knew it, both the boys had taken all the bags off my hands and I was left to climb out without any at all.

"Guys!" I whined. "Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I can't do the same stuff as you. You know, I thought we were past this—"

"Shut up and go open the door." Stiles said, still using that uncharacteristically _annoyed_ tone on me. I pouted, but did what he said.

I unlocked the door and held it open for them, suddenly gasping as I looked at the empty spots on the front porch. "The flowerpots!"

Scott snorted and dissolved into giddy chuckles. "Dude—that's why we left in the first place!" He laughed, and I shook my head and smoothed my hair down.

" _Crap_. Mom's gonna be so pissed." I pointed at all the bags that they carried, looking at Scott with wide eyes. "Seriously! She's gonna be pissed!"

"You know, _now_ is one of those glorious moments when it just feels so good to say this…" Stiles took a deep, cleansing breath as he stood in our foyer. "I told you so."

"Shut up," Scott and I chorused, as I trudged towards the kitchen.

"Man, my high is wearing off." I pouted, fighting back a yawn. "And I'm really tired."

"Have you been to bed yet?" Stiles asked as he set his portion of the bags on the counter next to Scott.

"No." I waved him off and collapsed in a kitchen chair. "I'm fine." Even as I said it, I laid my head on the table and let out a long breath. "Just… fine."

Scott and Stiles said something to each other, snickering as they began to put away the ice cream and left over food. My eyes slid shut and I snuggled into the tabletop.

I don't know how much time passed, but eventually, someone shook my arm. I blinked and smacked my lips. My mouth was insanely dry. I looked up and saw my mom's face frowning down at me.

"Did you fall asleep down here?" She asked.

I blinked drearily and rubbed at my eyes. "What time is it?"

"It's a little after midnight."

I gasped and bolted out of my seat, swaying dangerously on my feet.

"Whoa, whoa, take it easy!" She said, frowning at me with worry. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," I said, waving her off. "I've just got a headache."

"You look sort of pale, hon." She said, pressing a hand to my forehead. "Have you eaten?"

"Uh," I said, blinking at her as I tried to work through the strange fog in my mind. It still felt like I was asleep, and like I had been for a really long time. Probably because I'd been at the table for… almost twelve hours. I rubbed at a crick in my neck. "I don't think so."

My stomach rumbled and she guided me to a seat, telling me she'd get me some food.

"What—" She frowned, staring into the fridge. "Audrey…. What did you do?"

"Uh—" I bolted out of my seat again, my heart taking off at a race. "We just! We bought some food!"

"I can _see_ that. Why?" Mom picked up a styrofoam carton, popping it open as I struggled to think of a reasonable explanation. I sputtered as she frowned down at the contents. "Is this chicken alfredo?"

I clamped my mouth shut and considered my next words carefully. "Of… course it is! T-that's your favorite, right?"

She looked up at me through narrowed eyes, the chicken alfredo hanging suspended under nose. I didn't move—didn't breathe as she stared at me. "Well… I guess this means I'm not cooking for the next two days."

I almost fell over in relief as she turned to the microwave, shaking her head.

"I tell you what, you kids better eat _every bite_ of that food."

I sighed and sat down at the table again. "I don't think _that's_ going to be a problem."

"Hmph!" She snorted. "You sure you're feeling all right?" Mom reached into a cabinet as her pasta nuked in the microwave, pulling down two glasses and filling them with water from the fridge. I nodded and ran a hand through my messy hair. "Well, you look exhausted. Why don't you take some Tylenol after you eat, just so I feel better?

I sighed and crossed my legs in the chair as I nodded.

"Look, your favorite!" She said, digging through the fridge. "Cheese and spinach stuffed ravioli."

When mom came to finally join me at the table, I snatched the glass of water and downed almost the whole thing. She gave me a skeptical look that I caught mid-gulp, and I abruptly stopped drinking. Slowly, I lowered the glass from my lips and changed the subject. "How was work?"

"Fine— _ugh!_ Who put all this parmesan on this?" She complained, stirring the pasta with a wrinkled nose. "It's soaking up all the sauce…"

"Huh," I muttered, pawing my fork through my own dish. "Mine too… That's weird."

* * *

 _ **AHHH! I wrote from Stiles' POV! I've NEVER stepped outside my OC's point of view before! (Not in Teen Wolf, at least.) How was it!? Was it okay!? I hope I didn't muck it up too horribly!**_


	7. Chapter 6

**_First off, thank you to all the beautiful, stunning reviews! I seriously have the most amazing followers :) You guys are the best._**

 ** _I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I wanted to say that I know some of you were bothered by the fact that Scott was able to get high last chapter? That's understandable, since he can't get drunk it's likely he wouldn't be able to get high either. I realize this. That chapter was requested and it was EXTREMELY fun to write, and from the response I got from you guys it was fun to read. I think I'm going to leave it in. If it becomes an issue, I'll move it to like a 'deleted scenes' sort of separate story section, but for now, I'm sorry... It's staying. It's filler, it doesn't do much to propel the story forward, but it's fun, so for now I don't see any harm in leaving it be._**

 ** _I hope you enjoy! :)_**

* * *

I sat on the bleachers with my headphones on, soft music playing as I worked through the mound of homework in my lap. Typically, I wait until I'm home to work on anything school-related, but between the heavy course load I put on myself (it's all with the misguided attempt to get enough credits to skip my sophomore year) and the fact that I blew it all off this weekend, it's starting to back up pretty bad. If I don't start working on this stuff soon, I'd probably start systematically tearing my hair out and go into the fetal position.

I have an acute fear of letting my grades fall below an A minus, and as such, I make sure all homework is completed in a timely manner to avoid any unwarranted panic attacks. Plus, I wanted to prove to the guidance counselor that I could handle ten classes per semester. She seems to think I can't. In fact, she told me on no uncertain terms that if I took four AP courses and replaced three of my electives with sophomore-level classes, I'm destined to fail. So honestly my good grades are kind of out of spite, too.

I'm at yet another one of Scott's practices because he's my ride. Sometimes I'll walk home, or other times I'll go work in the library until he's done, but with everything that's been happening, I figure it's better to try and keep a close eye on things. If he wolfs out or anything happens… I need to be here for that. A lot of people have come to this practice, actually, because whispers of a rivalry starting between Scott and Jackson have begun spreading through the school. It's ridiculous, but it's the juiciest gossip since Greenberg almost got kicked off the team for something or other last year. Lacrosse is a hot topic in school anyways, add a bit of some 'friendly competition' and drama to the mix, and it's like Jersey Shore: Ronnie vs. Mike all over again.

A pale hand snatched the notebook out from under my wrist and I gasped and immediately growled in annoyance. Swiping at the hand, I tried to snatch it back, but Lydia Martin held it out of reach and fixed it with her surprisingly panicked eyes.

"What is this?" She demanded almost accusingly, her immaculately curled hair blowing slightly in the wind.

I scrunched my face and made to swipe for it again. "It's my homework, give it back!"

"I _know_ that, I can see that. Is this for psychology?" She frowned and leafed through the pages, her eyes flitting across them. "I don't remember being assigned this at all… what is this?"

"It's extra credit," I grabbed onto her wrist and tugged her closer so I could finally snatch my notebook back, glancing over at Allison who lingered awkwardly over Lydia's shoulder. "And I would appreciate it if you didn't do that again."

Lydia crossed her arms and practically stomped her foot at me, staring down at the notebook in my lap. "Extra credit? He didn't tell me there would be extra credit!"

"Yeah, I requested it specifically because I bombed the last quiz."

"You did?" She asked, tilting her head. "It was just a reading check. What'd you get?"

I looked up at her, putting one earphone back in and glancing back at Allison again. "A nineteen."

"It was out of twenty five," She frowned, and I raised my eyebrows and nodded, smiling awkwardly as I put my other earphone in to drown her out.

"Exactly." I shook my head and turned back to my homework. But for some reason, the shadow that had fallen over my notebook didn't leave. I clenched my jaw and looked to see Lydia's lips moving as she apparently asked me something else.

The muscle in my jaw jumped as I sighed heavily and took out an earphone. "What?"

"You're Scott McCall's sister, aren't you?" She smiled, tilting her head at me like a bird of prey.

"Yeah," I said slowly, fixing my gaze on Allison who smiled politely at me. I raised an eyebrow and then frowned at Lydia. "Why?"

"Why are you sitting all alone up here?" She dodged, reaching down to pick up my backpack. "Join us! You can tell me about the extra credit."

And with that, she took my backpack and tromped down the bleachers in her dramatically high stilettos. I gawked at her as she clomped away, turning to Allison with my face probably the perfect picture of a question mark.

"She has this burning desire to be better than everyone in her classes." Allison explained with a nod. "It's probably best if you just surrender and go quietly."

I sighed heavily and slammed my notebook shut. "She has my book," I pouted, stepping down to join Allison. "I have no choice."

"Yeah, that's Lydia," Allison smirked. "She fights dirty. It's nice to meet you, officially."

"Hey, I wanted to ask you…" I started, tucking my earphones into my purse. Allison patiently looked at me, and I could instantly tell why Scott liked her so much. I felt comfortable around her right off the bat, like I could tell her anything I wanted to and it would be all right. I took a deep breath and smiled at her. "Did you forgive my idiot brother yet?"

"Oh, he thinks I have." She smirked, a mischievous glint in her eye. "But I plan to make him work for it a bit."

I laughed and had the strangest urge to throw my arm over her shoulder. It's odd because I don't usually hit it off with girls so easily. Guys, for some reason, have always been effortless for me to befriend. I'm even on speaking terms with Jackson. But girls? Those friendships don't happen as naturally. But with Allison, I can already tell we'll get along fabulously.

"Good for you!" I looked down to see my brother suddenly come stomping onto the field. He looked distraught, anxious almost. I frowned questioningly at Stiles, who trailed hesitantly behind him, and Stiles shook his head dismissively at me. _Later_ , his expression read.

I pursed my lips and started to try and say more, but suddenly Lydia called to us from their usual spot on the bleachers. "Ladies!" She waved a manicured hand in the air, smiling impatiently at us. "They're about to start."

Allison and I exchanged an amused eye roll, and I glanced back down at the field just in time to catch Stiles freaking out. He gestured wildly to Lydia, and I sent him a dose of his own medicine—my expression reading, _Later_. Stiles' mouth popped open and the coach blew his whistle to signal the start of practice.

I smirked at him and waved, turning to make my way down the bleachers. Lydia had placed my backpack to the right of her, and I eyed the spot next to Allison, who sat on the other side of Lydia.

"Audrey," Lydia chirped, patting the spot next to her with a dimpled smile. "Sit by me!"

And I thought maybe my head would spin around and I would moonwalk to her and my sentences would come out in reverse, because none of this made _any fucking sense_. I blinked widely at her and looked at Allison, whose face told me _resistance is futile_ , and I slowly lowered myself onto the seat next to Lydia—my eyes never leaving her face.

She cheered, for some asinine reason, when the coach told Jackson to use the long stick this practice. Whatever _that_ means. I scoffed to myself and looked to the field, perplexed.

The boys were all setting up for what looked like a grueling exercise that involved lining up to take a run at Jackson. It seemed that the goal was for each player to get the ball, make it past Jackson, and score a point.

Simple enough.

 _Right_.

Scott was towards the middle of the line, so I didn't have much to pay attention to for now. "Dissociative disorders involve _frequent_ , recurring breaks in both memory and identity." Lydia said, pointing down at something I'd written in my extra credit. "Otherwise, it's just amnesia."

"Or fugue." I added, scribbling in the correct conditions.

"Right," She brightly agreed, and then abruptly turned her attention back to the practice to cheer as Jackson sent one player crashing to the field.

Stiles' claims of Lydia's sudden strokes of genius flashed through my mind as I watched her, and I sighed. I only hesitated slightly before saying, "Uh, the extra credit is to pick one of the personality disorders from chapter 14 and explain it in your own words, and then provide a specific case from a university-level source where that disorder was observed." I paused and looked down at the notebook, biting my lip. "If you wanted to do it."

"Oh, I don't need it," Lydia scoffed, waving me off. "I'm already over one hundred percent for the class."

My eye twitched and I turned back to the field with a tight jaw. One step forward, two steps back…

" _McCall's_ gonna do it again! _McCall's_ gonna do it again!" The coach suddenly taunted from the field, his voice dripping with childish derision. I looked back to the field to see my brother throwing himself off the ground, and I could tell from his body language alone that things had gone south.

I sat up and set my notebook aside, extra credit forgotten. My eyes flickered down to the bench where Stiles was all but wind milling his arms to get my attention, and when I finally looked down there he gestured furiously for me to join him. The coach looked over and almost caught him, and he somehow covered one of his gestures with a weird sort of stretch.

I snorted and quickly sprang from my seat, completely forgetting who was sitting next to me. "Audrey!" Lydia said. "Where are you going?"

I blinked at the two girls, Lydia tilting her head and Allison smiling at me. "Uh… be right back!" I waved, not waiting around to hear their response. I quickly picked my way over to the bench and stumbled to a stop next to Stiles.

"What's going on?"

"Why are you sitting with Lydia?"

We asked at the same time in identical tones of exasperation, and I blinked at him.

"You first," We chorused, and I narrowed my eyes. He sighed in frustration and flapped his hand at me as we turned to watch my brother set up again.

The whistle blew, and Scott tore down the field like a mack truck. He hurdled straight for Jackson, kicking up dirt and bits of grass, and I instinctively reached over to grab a fistful of Stiles' jersey when Scott smacked into Jackson and pummeled him into the ground.

I didn't need supernatural hearing to pick up what sounded like bones crushing from my spot all the way across the field. My hand flew to my mouth as Jackson grunted and rolled on his side in pain. Scott, apparently having hit Jackson _too_ hard, gripped his helmet and fell to his knees.

Stiles gasped and I gave him a rough push off the bench in the direction of my brother. He scrambled to stand upright and I quickly exclaimed for him to go check on Scott, and he sprinted down the field. I watched with my hands in my hair from the sidelines as Stiles slid to a stop next to Scott and leaned over him.

I would give my left arm to be able to hear their conversation, but the last thing I wanted was for coach to kick me off the field or suddenly remember he gave me a detention, so I settled for pacing back and forth like a caged, anxious lion. I glanced up at the bleachers and saw that Lydia and Allison were gone. Whirling back around, I noticed that they were both part of the huddle gathered around Jackson—who had yet to get up from the ground.

Scott and Stiles were quickly limping towards me, and away from the mass of players gathered around Jackson, and I caught a brief glimpse of Allison watching Stiles and Scott hurry towards me with a worried expression. I ignored that and grabbed Scott's shoulder. Like a rabid dog, he snapped at me and I jerked back with my hands up. I looked at Stiles with wide, questioning eyes.

" _It's happening_ ," He frantically relayed, and I almost fainted.

"Oh god," I panicked, flapping uselessly around them. " _Breathe!"_ I hissed, glancing nervously over our shoulders as I herded them towards the locker rooms. " _Hee-hee, hoo. Hee-hee, hoo."_

"He's not going into labor, Audrey!" Stiles snapped as we neared the locker rooms. "He's shifting!"

"I was talking to myself!" I glanced over my shoulder as Stiles snorted in surprise, towards the fields, because I was worried that the others would see us. Scott was hunched and we were doing our best to make it look like he was hobbling to the locker rooms and not shifting into a damn _werewolf_. Allison had turned her attention onto Lydia, who was more of a mess than Jackson. I started to turn back to my boys, but something caught my eye. Amid the frenzied lacrosse players and teens out there, one body stood stock-still. Rigid and tall as a flagpole, Derek Hale was standing exactly like he did in the woods. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands at his sides, staring dead at us like he had all the time in the world and had already been studying us for too damn long.

"You go," I suddenly said, though they'd basically already ducked into the locker rooms.

"What?" Stiles started to say, his hand sliding from Scott's shoulder as Scott bull rushed the door and disappeared inside the locker rooms. Stiles broke to chase after him, but skidded to a halt and was visibly torn as for what to do. I waved him off and changed direction towards Derek.

"Go!" I said, "He needs you!"

Derek didn't even budge. He watched me straight on, his face a stoic mask of disapproval, and even though I didn't know him, that expression was becoming extremely familiar to me. It felt like I was picking up a lot about who he was just through the intensely judgmental stares he fixed us with every time we saw him.

An inexplicable rage bubbled in my heart. My mind flashed over all the grizzly murder cases I've ever heard of, and how most of them start the same way: a creep, watching their victims, stalking their prey. And I always felt so sad for the victims, for their families—and I'm _angry_ because we would _not_ become one of those stories.

All I know, is that in this moment, while my brother is freaking out on the field and all the focus is trained on his injured teammate, and we're all headed to the empty locker room, _Derek Hale_ is watching us. He's _always_ watching us, and it made the hairs on my arms stand at end.

I made my way back up the field, course charted straight for Derek. It was unclear what he wanted; he kept showing up at the most random times, and for some reason, he looked at all of us like he was plotting six different ways to kill us without anyone ever finding out about it. It makes me uncomfortable. It makes me _worried_.

And to be honest, I've had enough. I refuse to play games. I'm actually a pretty reasonable person, so if I can just talk to him and see where he's coming from, I _might_ not call the cops. But that's if he's polite and can give me a _damn_ good reason for why he's stalking my brother.

I had made it over the hill and I was within shouting distance from him. "Hey!" I yelled, his eyes flicking over and locking on my face. I was closing in on him, my heart thudding in my chest with bitter determination, when suddenly a hand grabbed my elbow. I reared around to snap at them for breaking the moment, but quickly shut my mouth in surprise when Danny took my by the shoulders and asked me something.

"Hey, are you all right?" Danny asked, his sweet face marred with concern. I popped my mouth shut and subtly leaned around him to glance at the empty spot where Derek had just been standing. Letting out a frustrated breath, I focused on Danny. He was still in his lacrosse gear, his stick in his hand.

"Sure, Danimal," I patted his arm with a tight smile. I was still on edge, but for Danny, I'd always suck it up and be nice. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was just going to see if you were doing okay." Danny said, and I frowned in confusion. He glanced over his shoulder at Jackson, worry radiating off of him, and understanding clicked in my mind. He's not checking to see if _I'm_ okay. He's wanting me to notice that _he's_ not.

It's this thing Danny and I do. If I'm stressed about something, and I need a little _pick-me-up,_ (weed) I'll come to Danny. Of course this rule goes both ways. I made it clear a while ago that he could vent to me about _anything_. It's been going on for a little under a year now, and I noticed all the signs.

His shoulders were tense as he absently picked at the netting on his lacrosse stick. His eyes, the most expressive, doe-eyed brown eyes I'd ever seen (apart from Scott's) were scrunched with hurt. Danny was _seriously_ worried about his friend. Low key, of course, as he ran a hand over his hair and breathed out a laugh that was meant to make it seem like he was calm and casual. "W—uhh," He shrugged at me. "What are we going to do about these assholes, huh?"

I took in a breath and glanced back at the locker rooms. "Jackson and Scott? Yeah, they're tearing this family apart," I joked, eliciting a laugh from him. "He's gonna be fine, dude. Jackson's the most stubborn son of a bitch in the school." I paused and looked up to disguise my eye-roll. "How else did he make captain of the team? You seriously think a little competition is gonna keep him off the field?"

Danny zeroed in on that topic, shifting in his cleats. "I had no idea Scott knew how to play—like… like some sort of…" He struggled to find an adequate comparison, and I smiled and nodded knowingly. "Why hasn't he played like that before?"

"He trained a lot this summer." I deflected, knowing it was a lame excuse, and pointed back at the field. "Looks like something's happening, look!"

Danny seemed like he wanted to say something as he watched Lydia and Finstock guide Jackson towards the back of an ambulance. Seemed a little overkill to me, but I guess the school is taking every precaution to try to keep his dad from suing them. "I guess I should go…" But he didn't move. He looked briefly down at the ground as he toed to grass, and I frowned at him.

"Danny, you're being weird," I said, trying to make him smile, but he sighed and looked away. I raised my eyebrows. "Out with it!"

"It's nothing." He said, smiling sadly at me. And then it clicked. My mouth parted in understanding and I looked between the retreating ambulance and the locker room.

"You want me to go with you to the hospital." I deduced. Last summer, the first time we got high together, Danny told me a massive secret. At first I thought he was trying to tell me his was gay—but that wasn't news. Danny came out in junior high. He was the strongest guy I knew. No, that wasn't it. The secret was that Danny… had feelings for Jackson. For obvious reasons, this was bad.

An empathetic wave of sadness rolled over me, because it would never work and we both knew it. Jackson had made several comments that he wasn't gay, several insensitive comments about Danny checking him out. Danny laughed along like it didn't bother him and he wasn't hesitant to get sassy with him, but I knew it secretly bothered him. I'd hoped he'd gotten past this.

Jackson had made one particularly nasty comment when they were at a party once, and Danny never got over it. But I _thought_ he'd gotten over _him_.

I could tell by the guarded way he looked at me that he hadn't. I put my hand on his arm and frowned. "Danny… If the situation was reversed, and you went to the hospital because of a lacrosse injury… would Jackson go with you?"

I asked this because we both knew the answer was a resounding _no_. I was trying to subtly remind him that he didn't _have_ to go visit Jackson. In the back of my mind, Scott nagged me. I needed to check on him. But Danny needed some attention, too— _deserved_ some friendly advice.

Don't get me wrong; Jackson would go visit Danny at his house after he was out of the hospital. After the worst of it was over. But he wouldn't make the point of going along with them to the hospital in the middle of lacrosse practice. He's too selfish for that.

Finstock was walking back to the field, rounding the boys up to speak with them. It was time for Danny to decide. Go to the hospital with Jackson? Or stay and finish practice?

"He's hurt, Audrey." Danny shook his head and there was no hesitation in his voice. "Like, _really_ hurt. This is going to keep him from playing the game!"

My eyebrows shot up. "You think he's going to sit out the first game of the year?" A bitter smile played at my lips and Danny nodded. He was so sure of himself, almost to the point of being offended that I would imply Jackson would be too stubborn not to play.

"Audrey, your brother—" He broke off at the expression on my face, taking a breath before continuing. "Jackson's going to be lucky if he gets off with a dislocation. It sounded like he _broke_ his shoulder—he's lucky it wasn't his neck!"

I glanced back at the locker rooms. "Yeah, he's hurt for sure. But…" _You know Jackson._

"Trust me, Jackson isn't stupid enough to try and play with his shoulder like that." Danny shook his head. "One, because I wouldn't let him. Two, because if he does play and he gets hurt, it could end his sports career forever."

"Maybe you should go tell _him_ that."

"Maybe I will," He frowned. We stared at each other for a beat longer before Danny finally stepped away. "Okay then." I made no move to follow him as he started towards the parking lot. "You coming with?" He asked, feigning nonchalance.

I felt my face scrunch up. I'd hoped he wouldn't ask and force me to choose like this. "Danny…" I said, my tone regretful. "I can't. Scott needs me too."

"Oh, yeah." Danny nodded and pressed his mouth into a composed line. "I get it."

"Okay," I said sadly, sensing that this was a line drawn in our friendship. He needed me; he really came to me hoping to find a sense of support in this. And I _do_ support him, but I can't leave Scott. Not in the condition he's in.

I gave a final wave as we separated, jogging off in opposite directions. And _that_ , ladies and gentlemen, is why I have no friends.

Just as I touched the handle of the boy's locker room, I peered over my shoulder at where Danny had disappeared through. The spot was empty, but if I was ever going to change my mind, now would be the time.

I opened the door with a sigh and stepped into the locker room… and into a scene that was hard for me to accept.

Stiles had changed back into jeans, and was currently pulling his shirt over his head. I caught a brief glimpse of his bare chest—which was shockingly chiseled and lean—and my eyes followed down to his happy trail which made my mouth go dry and my mind go blank. Like I said: hard for me to accept.

My face flamed red as I quickly started to turn away, stepping to the side immediately and without looking. I ran straight into a locker and my nose and forehead let me know it.

"Audrey!" Stiles exclaimed in shock, apparently not having heard me entering, and I was trying to get my emotions in check as I rubbed gingerly at my nose and peeked at him from behind my hand. "You good?"

There was barely contained humor hiding behind that question. My eyes narrowed and flitted over to my brother, who was sitting with his back to us on one of the benches. His shirt was dangling from his fingers and his head was hung, his elbows on his knees.

"Scott?" I frowned, stepping around Stiles. I glanced back at Scott's freckled friend, and I guess he was _my_ freckled friend now too. "What happened?"

"Oh, you know," Stiles mused with an obviously fake carefree bob of his head. "This and that. Scott tried to kill me, we decided he shouldn't be on first string—"

" _What?"_ I whirled around and immediately maneuvered myself into a crouch in front of Scott. "Dude, what the hell?" Stiles approached slowly from behind Scott with his hands in his pockets, unsure of how I was going to react. "You can't quit! You've come so far, you're so close!"

"I almost killed him, Audrey," Scott snapped, his eyes miserable as he looked up at me.

My mouth hung open and Stiles waved lamely from behind Scott. "Oh, yeah, _I'm fine_ , by the way," Stiles dryly commented. "Thanks for asking."

I shot him a dirty look and focused on my brother. I could see perfectly well that Stiles was all right, no need to milk it. Stiles should know I worried for him. It went without saying.

Scott sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Stiles. I have no control over myself when I'm like that, I would never—"

" _Exactly_. Which is why you can't play. What happens if you get like that on the field? You said it yourself: you 'can't control' it! What if you _kill_ someone out there?"

"He wouldn't do that," I quickly defended, and Stiles raised his eyebrows challengingly at me.

"Oh yeah? And what makes you so sure? You didn't see him, Audrey! He can't play tonight. Not—it wouldn't be right!"

"It's not fair!" I snapped, angry on my brother's behalf. "And it's not that easy, anyways! You guys don't get it yet, but you will. He's first string now! You think coach is going to take that lightly? How hard did you have to work to get here? You think Finstock's just gonna let you _sit this one out?"_

I looked between Stiles and Scott, who seemed a bit stunned. Apparently this thought hadn't crossed their minds. I shook my head. "He'll understand…" Scott lamely tried, though the dread in his eyes said he was just being stubborn.

"It doesn't work like that anymore, and you know it." I said. "Like it or not, Finstock's going to insist that you play tonight, and if you elect to sit it out anyways, you'll never get to play another game again. Especially if you already benched his star player… Unless you come up with a damn good reason not to."

"Like what?" Stiles scoffed.

My mouth popped open, but nothing came to mind, so I shrugged helplessly and shook my head. "I have no idea. That's my point. Hell, you're probably right, he probably has no business playing lacrosse Saturday or any other night. But the only people who know that are the people who know he's bitten."

"Maybe we could get mom to write a doctor's note," Scott suddenly suggested, apparently inspired. It was our default excuse to use. We discovered it was a viable option in junior high, when Scott got out of a gym test involving suicide runs because mom wrote a note about his asthma attacks he has.

I contemplated it for a minute, glancing up at Stiles, who offered no contention. "Well… I mean, do you think she'd go for it?"

"Maybe," Scott shrugged, glancing over at Stiles. "I guess we should try."

"Tonight." I decided, crossing my arms. "When she gets home from work, you can tell her you had another asthma attack at practice and you're worried about playing the game."

"She's not going to like this." Scott said, his face and voice flat. I sighed and shrugged a helpless shoulder.

"What choice do we have?"

* * *

That night, I did my best to butter mom up. I made her favorite dinner—scrambled eggs and bacon, and served it with a smile. You know, like all _good_ waitresses do.

She looked down at the plate of food and back up at me, stunned and suspicious. "…What's this?"

"Dinner!" I chirped, a smile screwed onto my face.

"For me?"

"Obviously," I snorted, crossing my arms. "What? You act like I poisoned it!" She opened her mouth and hesitated, tilting her head. I scoffed. " _Mom!_ Come on, I made this for _you_ , with my blood sweat and tears, and now you're rejecting it?"

She shrugged with a reluctant smile as she rolled her eyes and snatched the plate out of my hand. "The last time you made me scrambled eggs, you failed geometry."

"Mother," I laughed loudly and pointedly. "Don't make me _laugh_."

"Too late," Scott called from his spot on the couch in the living room.

"Shut up, Scott!" I snapped. _This is for you!_ I took a breath and tried to mentally cleanse the air of his sass. We didn't need it clouding the ambiance I was attempting to create. "And we can play monopoly tonight, and watch Sixteen Candles—" Mom and I paused, waiting to hear the usual groan from Scott that came with the title of the movie. He positively _deplores_ Sixteen Candles. Or so he says… He quotes it, I'm telling you. Still, the groan never came. And that's when mom became suspicious. She narrowed her eyes at me and I smiled. "Or not," I quickly said with a wave of the hand. "If it's too much."

"Why?" She asked, crossing her arms.

"Well—because," I momentarily sputtered, glancing towards the living room. "You aren't home much anymore, I wanted to make it a fun night."

Mom actually sagged a bit, guilt overcoming her pretty visage. "Oh, honey," She took the plate from my hands and set it on the table, staring down at the food with a conflicted expression. I shifted uncomfortably, finding this turn of events particularly… _distasteful_. She sighed and looked up at me, her face the perfect picture of apologetic. "I took another late shift." I was careful to keep a neutral expression, but my tightening jaw didn't escape her eyes. "I'm sorry, honey. I know I'm not home much anymore—but someone needs to keep the lights running in this house, you know?"

"That's the electric company's job," I stubbornly pouted, and mom smiled sadly at me.

"Well, technically, yes. But it's my job to pay them to keep it up."

My lips pouted and I looked away. "That's stupid." I muttered childishly, and she patted my arm.

"The food is wonderful."

"Yeah it is," I muttered, and she snorted.

"Wow, you're so humble."

"Please, hold your applause," I sighed, and took a seat across from her. "I get it, mom. Maybe I should pick up more hours at the clinic?"

"No, sweet girl," Mom shook her head resolutely as she took a bite of bacon. "Your job is school. You know how you struggle if you don't focus."

"It'll be pretty hard to focus with the lights out." I grumbled, but my eyes were sparkling with jest. "I hear reading by candlelight is a fast-track to bifocals."

"Saturday!" Mom suddenly declared, waving her bacon strip in the air as she raised her voice loud enough for Scott to hear. "I'll take Saturday off so I won't miss your first game!"

" _No!_ " Scott and I immediately chorused, shocking my mom into silence. She looked at me like I'd sprouted a beak.

"No—uh, that's not necessary, mom," I feebly tried, wincing at how obviously suspicious that was.

"Nonsense," She waved her hand dismissively at both of us. "It's already done. I took off the second I heard Scott made first string." She smiled coyly. "You didn't honestly think I'd miss _that_ , did you?"

I smiled weakly at her and watched as she continued to eat her plate of food. Scott appeared in the door way and we both exchanged identical expressions. _We can't ask her to write the note._ I sighed and looked back at mom with another smile, shifting in my seat.

 _Crap_.

* * *

Later that night, mom had gone, and Scott and I were holed up in his room with a pile of no-good-for-you snacks surrounding us.

"She asked you what?" I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand. I still held a chip between my fingers, and Scott snorted.

"She asked me if I ever did any drugs."

"Shit! What'd you say?"

"I asked her if _she'd_ done drugs."

" _Shit!_ Savage," I said, tapping the top of his head. "What'd she say!?"

"She told me to get some sleep and she left."

"I bow to you, master," I teased, bowing dramatically to him. Suddenly, the shrill ring indicating FaceTime erupted from Scott's laptop. It wasn't a very nice laptop, because we couldn't afford a really nice one, but he had splurged to purchase one with a webcam so he could communicate with Stiles in… style. _Facepalm._

We both extracted ourselves from the Fort of Food, piling onto the chairs by Scott's desk. He reached out and accepted the call, and Stiles popped on screen. Problem is, he wasn't on screen. It was just his chair and an empty room. I frowned, but before I say anything, Stiles popped up and aimed his nerf gun at the camera.

He pulled it away with a huge, dopey grin on his face as he waited for Scott to laugh, but my brother was exhausted and just waited for Stiles to speak. I coughed and shifted awkwardly, waving at the camera. "Hey, Stiles! Scott is catatonic from the obscene amount of Doritos he's consumed, forgive his rather disappointing social skills at present."

"Right," Stiles nodded, the screen pixelating strangely.

"So what'd you find?" Scott asked, and I sat back in my seat and brought my hand up to my face to inspect my nails.

"Not much. Jackson's shoulder is dislocated, he can't play Saturday—which means they're counting on you."

Scott sighed and I frowned down at my lap and wondered if I should call Danny. Thinking of doing just that, I reached down and patted at the pockets of my sweat pants, but my phone wasn't in them.

"What?" Scott snapped, annoyed with something that Stiles was doing.

I frowned deeper and turned to look back at the bed, thinking maybe I'd left it there—and almost fell out of my seat in shock. I screamed and shot to my feet. "What!?" Scott cried, whirling to look at me. Derek Hale was standing in the hallway, his large form casting an ominous shadow into Scott's room.

Panic shocked my heart into overdrive. I scrambled back and Scott barely had time to follow my gaze before Derek grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him into the wall, pinning him there.

I whirled around, searching for something to hit him over the head with. Scott breathed heavily in fear, a characteristic that echoed his days of asthma. "I saw you on the field today," Derek hissed.

"What? What are you _talking_ about?" Scott panted, and I felt rage bubbling in me again. I was _angry_ that Derek had come into our home, and was _terrorizing_ my brother. I flew over to the corner by the door, where his lacrosse gear lay, picking up the lacrosse stick and holding it awkwardly—like a baseball bat.

"You _shifted_ in front of them—in front of _all_ of them!" Derek snarled, and I swung a well-aimed hit to the back of his head.

Derek held steadfast onto my brother, turning to snap at me with a loud roar.

" _Get off_ of him!" I screamed, but Derek ignored me.

"If they see you, then they find out about you and me. Then it's not just the hunters we have to worry about—it's everyone!"

"They didn't _see_ _anything!"_ Scott exclaimed through his fear, and I dropped my grip on the lacrosse stick, letting it swing at my side.

"Fuck it." I muttered, and Derek hardly had time to turn his head before my foot met a very sensitive area of his.

But Derek didn't drop to the ground like I expected. He let out a large, booming roar that shook the walls of the house, pushing off my brother as he turned around and snarled threateningly at me.

"Oh shit!" I gasped, and stumbled back in fright, but held my ground. This enraged Derek, and he let out another roar as he lunged forward and knocked one of the computer chairs in front of me—much like Scott had done not too long ago.

It barreled past my legs and I stumbled to flee its path and tripped, causing me to fly over the bed. I landed face-first on the floor with a sharp thud.

With his attention solely on Scott, Derek could now properly threaten him. I didn't catch all of it, but the phrase _kill you myself_ blared in my ears like an air horn.

Before I had the strength to sit up, Derek was out of the room, and Scott had made his way over the bed to me. "Are you okay!?" He took my by the arms and helped me to sit up, his hands trembling.

I was panting just as hard as he was, and I reached up to touch my chin. I hissed in pain and let out a frustrated whine, and Scott sat forward. "You're bleeding," He said, miserably, and pointed at his own lip.

I brought my finger up and prodded gently at the sensitive area, once again hissing in pain. "Ah, damn. I must've bitten it when I landed on the ground." My anger built, and I looked furiously at the window Derek had jumped out of. "That's it. We're calling the cops!"

"What!?" Scott cried, shaking his head vehemently. "No! We _can't_ , Audrey! We can't tell them what he is!"

"So we _won't!_ We'll tell them he's been stalking us! I don't _care_ what, we have to do _something!"_

"Okay, okay—you're right. I will!" Scott sighed and looked down, twisting his hand in his hair. "I'll figure something out."

"That's not good enough, and you have too much to worry about anyways," I said, shaking my head. "Let me go to the Sheriff."

"Audrey," He said, the _I don't know about that_ ringing clear in his voice.

"Scott, come on. We can't do this on our own. We're just kids! He threatened to _kill_ you! As in _murder_. To _death!_ You expect me to just sit still for that? We need to tell the police!"

"M-Maybe you're right." Scott sighed, looking around at the disaster that is his room. "Help me clean this up first?"

I sighed. "You should call Stiles back, so he knows we're not dead." _Yet_. "I've got this."

Scott watched me cautiously. "You sure?" I nodded. He looked around the room, his shoulders slumping under the freshly added weight of what just happened. "Okay."

* * *

"You were right." Danny said, standing over my desk. I looked up from my book, smiling mischievously.

"You're finally admitting that Dean is hotter than Sam?"

"Never." Danny said, his tone equally as grave as it was when he approached me. I smiled and tilted my head at him.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, Danimal. What am I right about this time?"

Danny sighed and practically collapsed in the seat next to me, his whole body sagging with defeat. "Jackson wants to play on Saturday."

I took in his dejected, worried expression and tutted. "Oh, Danny. What a jack ass." Because we're friends, I decided not to comment on how alike _Jack Ass_ and _Jackson_ were.

"He says he's not about to let some scrawny little jerk steal his thunder."

"Stiles isn't playing," I teasingly frowned without missing a beat, drawing a snort from Danny. "Ah, I shouldn't have said that when he's not around to defend himself."

He shook his head tiredly. "I don't know, Audrey. I don't know what to do to change his mind."

"Well there's your problem right there, Danielson." I patted his shoulder morosely. "You can't change people. They are who they are. They're going to let you down, that's a fact."

Danny frowned at me. "That's… depressing."

I shrugged. "That's reality."

The bell rang, signaling the beginning of class. "So what, I'm just not supposed to say anything when he decides to do something dumb?"

I smirked. "Did I say that? No! No way, tell him a thousand times if you want. And then when you turn out to be right, gloat about that, too. Just don't expect him to listen to you. At the end of the day, people do what they want. It's better to give them _options_ , that way you're not let down as much when they make the wrong choice."

Danny mulled my words over carefully, but before he had the chance to comment, the teacher quieted the class and began the lecture.

By the end of class, I thought maybe things were looking up. I had turned in my extra credit and I felt like I knew every question on the reading check today. Maybe I could turn things around yet.

I was packing my things away when the teacher called out to me from his desk. "Can I see you, please?" He asked, his tone not upbeat nor disappointed. It revealed absolutely nothing.

I frowned and nodded, quickly packing up the rest of my things before approaching his desk. "I was able to grade your extra credit while the class did their reaching check."

I frowned down at the wrinkled paper, a bright red _C minus_ standing out against the white material. It'd been wrinkled quite a bit when I crammed everything into my pack after practice yesterday in our haste to get back to the house.

"What?" I gasped, snatching the paper up. My optimistic mood lost its pilot and quickly took a nose dive, soaring ever closer to the frothy waves of death and despair below it. "A _C minus?_ This is worse than the grade I originally had!"

"Yes, but it's better than the grade you'll be getting on the reading check from today."

That stopped me cold in my tracks. I stared at him from over the paper, my jaw clenched tightly. "…I see."

He fixed me with a troubled expression. Taking a breath, he sat on his desk. "Ms. McCall, how many classes have you taken this semester?"

I looked back down at the stupid extra credit. "Ten."

He hummed knowingly. "At the rate you're going, I think it might be wise for you to drop this class."

"Drop the class?" I gasped, my heart literally tearing in two. How could he say that? "I haven't failed _yet!"_

"Yes, that's true." He gently acquiesced. "But if you get three more grades like this, you _will_."

My mouth popped open and shut.

"There's no shame in knowing when you've reached your limit. Perhaps you can try again next year, or next semester."

I sniffed and crumpled the paper in my hand. "Are we done here?"

He watched me with sympathetic eyes. "I suppose," He barely got the words out of his mouth, and I was tearing out of that classroom like a bat out of hell.

I threw my psychology book into my locker and a multitude of papers and books rained out, falling onto the floor. "Ugh!" I cried, my eyes actually tearing up as I kicked at some of them.

They skidded across the hall, and I punched my locker in frustration. I took a deep breath and turned to go retrieve them.

"Allison!" My brother's voice carried down the hall, and I turned to see him waving after her. "Allison—wait—"

"No, I gotta go!" She forced a smile as she hurried in the opposite direction of Scott. I frowned, because it looked like she was fleeing him. That's weird.

Scott practically stomped his foot, sighing in frustration as he whirled on his heels and stormed towards me. I tilted my head and lifted my hand. "Scott," I called, pausing in surprise when he barely glanced at me and pushed past me. "Scott, wait!"

" _No!_ " He snapped, furious like I hadn't seen him in a long time. "Just _leave. Me. Alone!_ God!"

I withdrew my hand and took a step back, my mouth hanging open in shock.

"Can't you find your own friends!?" He continued, his voice snapping out like a whip. I recoiled from him and frowned in confusion, and he stared at me for a beat longer before snarling in disgust and storming off.

I watched him go and looked down at the ground, replaying his words in my mind.

"Audrey, hey," Stiles seemingly appeared out of nowhere, although he'd probably been standing nearby the whole time. My books were in his hand, and he took me by the arm when I tried to step around him. "Hey, what the hell was that?"

"How am I supposed to know?" I snapped. I sighed and immediately forced myself to calm down, sending an apologetic glance up at his face. He pursed his lips and nodded at me. "Sorry, Stiles, I don't know. I'm just ready for today to be over."

I took my books out of his hands and thanked him quietly as I turned back to my locker, kneeling down to pick some papers up.

Stiles joined me, kneeling on the ground and gathering as many papers as he could. He tried to stack them neatly, and abruptly froze as something caught his eye.

"Whoa, what's this?" He held up one of my reading checks from psychology. It was extremely unlike me to get bad grades.

I snatched it bitterly out of his hand and crumpled it into a ball. "That's a load of _horseshit_ , that's what _that_ is," I resentfully spat. I paused and sighed sharply. "I'm gonna have to drop psych."

"What?" He squeaked, rearing back in shock. "I mean—A-Are you sure?"

"That's what the teacher tells me," I shrugged, shoving all the books and papers back into their rightful spots. "I guess he knows best."

"Damn…" Stiles sighed. "That sucks, Aud."

"Tell me about it."

"Well, what if you get a tutor?"

"Like who?"

"Danny?" He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. I shook my head.

"Pretty sure he's mad at me."

"Why?"

I sent Stiles a dry look, which silently said _not now_.

He sighed and flapped a hand. " _Okay_. What about… Lydia?" I glared at him. " _What_ —come on! You gotta find _someone_ , right? Why not her?"

"She wouldn't do it, for one."

"How do you know?"

I sighed in exasperation and rolled my eyes, shutting my locker and pulling the strap of my book bag over my shoulder. "I don't know, I just _do_."

"Well, I think you should ask her."

I sighed and rubbed at my forehead. "Maybe you're right. I don't know."

"Course I am," He chirped brightly, throwing his arm over my shoulder. "I'm always right."

"Sure," I patronized, drawing a teasing glare from him.

"You need a ride home." He declared, and I pursed my lips at him. "See? Right again."

"Are you offering?" I said, leaning against him as we walked.

"Yeah, sure," He said, suddenly taking my hand and spinning us in a circle to make me laugh. "Anything for my lady!"

"Stiles!" I cried, trying to pull us to a stop. He merely spun faster. Finally, I stopped fighting it and just spun with him. I threw my head back and laughed when he nearly fell over himself into Coach Finstock, who was making his way towards the parking lot as well.

Finstock was still grumbling in his gravelly voice about prancing wussies when I took Stiles by the shoulder and dragged him away. "You're never going to live that down," I giggled, and he shook his head and pushed his head into his hands with a groan. "Anything for my lady," I mocked, ducking out from his swat and laughing maniacally.

* * *

 _ **Wow, bros. This chapter seriously took way too long XD So! Here's the deal. I have a secret... I've already started the sequel for this. I'm just SO EXCITED to write it that I had to start! I have some really great scenes prepared, and I had an idea.**_

 ** _Here it is: If you want to see a sneak peek of the sequel:_**

 ** _1.) If you don't have a registered account, MAKE ONE._**

 ** _2.) Sign in and leave me a review REQUESTING the sneak peek._**

 ** _If you don't have an account, I cannot Private Message you, and thus: I cannot give you a sneak peek. It's just a bit of fun. You'll get to see a glimpse of Audrey and *other characters* a few months in the future... it's set in season four, so for whatever that's worth. That's all I'll say :)_**

 ** _If you're intrigued, leave a review! Tell me your thoughts. I love to hear them and I read them all!_**


	8. Chapter 7

_**This chapter is a lot longer than I anticipated, lol. Oh well! I like it. Thank you for all your stunning reviews and support! Also, I hope those of you who requested the sneak peek enjoyed it! If you still are interested in reading it, I'll definitely send it to you. Same rules apply.**_

* * *

I had every one of the graded reading checks laid out on my desk. I'd gone over it four times already, double checking, and then triple checking, and then double checking _that_. But I can't find a way out of this. It doesn't matter how many times I check and recheck the numbers—he's right. I'm going to fail this class if I keep going at this rate. We've barely started the class, and I'm already failing? I'm already this confused about the material? We'd barely started the third unit!

I felt awful. The guidance counselor had been right, and I ignored her. It happens time and time again. I bite off more than I can chew, and even when someone warns me that I'm too close to the sun, I shut it out and fly a little higher. But as it stands, I'm freefalling straight for the ground. And who's going to be there to save me? Scott?

Ha! That's a laugh. I might as well buck up and put my big girl pants on. It's time to save my own ass for once.

I put my head in my hands and shook my head, squeezing my eyes in a futile attempt to soothe the burning.

The front door slammed shut and I gasped, scraping hastily at my wet cheeks with the back of my fists. Someone bounded up the steps three at a time and I leapt out of my beanbag chair to slam the door shut. Just as my hand touched the wood, something thudded against the side of it as if Scott tapped it to wake me up in case I was asleep.

"Audrey! Get ready, we're going out!" Scott called.

My instinct screamed to sate my curiosity. But then I thought about the ridiculous way he'd lashed out at me in the hall, and something inside me reached out to close my door. I shook my head and went to sit back at my desk.

Gathering all my papers, I shuffled them into a neat stack. Faint thuds and crashes could be heard as Scott pilfered around in his room, and I heard him call my name again. I sighed pointedly, angrily wadding all the reading checks into a ball and smashing them down into the trashcan beside my desk.

I stood up and drew my shirt over my head, peeling my jeans off as well. Scott hollered for me to hurry up. I scoffed and shook my head, angrily pulling a sweater over my arms and snatching up some leggings from the drawer.

I was just gathering my hair into a messy bun when he walked in. He looked over me with a frown. "Audrey, what are you doing?" He watched as I crossly plucked out a pair of fuzzy socks and sat down to pull them over my feet.

"I don't know, Scott," I testily sneered. "Why do you care?"

"What—" He sighed in exasperation, having the _nerve_ to look annoyed with me. "Audrey… come on."

I put my nose in the air and shouldered past him.

" _Audrey_ ," Scott turned to follow me out of my room. "Look, I'm _sorry_ , okay? I was a jerk."

I snorted and nodded my head as I quickly padded down the stairs. "You got that right."

"Audrey!" Scott groaned as he followed closely behind me, hovering as I plopped onto the couch and pulled a pillow on my lap. He took a deep breath and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Audrey rules, Scott drools."

"Scott's a _tool_ ," I grumbled, turning away from him.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? But I found something that I think might get Derek arrested."

My eyes flew in his direction and my head slowly turned to give him more of my attention.

Encouraged, Scott quickly pressed on. "So what we're gonna do is go the hospital. You and Stiles can keep watch while I go—"

"No." I crossed my arms. Scott blinked dumbly at me as if waiting for me to continue. "I swear, it's like you've never heard that word before," I scoffed, shaking my head. Scott frowned and his eyes quickly flashed with hurt.

"Well—what do you mean _no?"_

"I mean, _no."_ I shrugged my shoulders and brushed past him. "Whatever it is you're planning to do, I don't wanna know. I've got other plans tonight."

Scott snorted. I shot him a dirty look, and he immediately sobered up. "Wait—you do?"

"Yeah. With my _own_ friends."

His head dropped from its curious tilt and he all but rolled his eyes. "Audrey," he said, as if talking to a three-year-old toddler. I threw him a death glare. He scoffed and shifted impatiently. "Okay then, who?"

I shrugged a shoulder and shook my head. "Not telling you."

"Come on—" He started, his voice tired.

"Nope. Have fun on your little scavenger hunt, try not to get killed because I won't be there to _save_ your ass."

And with that, I bounded up the stairs to my room and slammed the door shut behind me. My heart thudded in my chest with frustration. I can't remember the last time I put Scott in his place like that. It'd been a while, that's for sure. I reached up and scratched thoughtfully at my forehead.

Now… the problem is, whom can I call? After that, there's no _way_ I'm going to be home when Stiles shows up to go off and have this little adventure with Scott.

I went over to pounce on my bed, stretching my arm out to reach down for my book bag. Pulling my phone out, I drew up a fresh text.

 _Danielson_ , it started. _Any plans tonight?_

I stared down at the text for a few lingering moments, but when no instantaneous reply came like in the movies, I sighed and flopped back on my pillows. Maybe staring at the walls isn't the best way to kill time.

I quickly went to my beanbag chair and sank into the squishy cushion, pulling my Tumblr feed up and scrolling absently through. About fifteen minutes passed before I finally got a reply from Danny.

 _I think Sam, Dean, and I were going to open Hell's Gate tonight. Why?_

I smirked and typed a quick reply. _Want some company?_

This time, he took no time to reply. _Only if you bring snacks._

I laughed and dropped my phone to my lap, a smile playing at my lips. The front door opened and I heard Stiles rush upstairs. He burst through my brother's door, and I could hear their muffled voices. My heart sank as I tried not to listen.

They're going to go out and do something stupid, like always. To hell with them! I can find my own good time… right?

I'm making my own plans. My own, separate, _independent_ plans. And it's a _good_ thing. Right?

I got my things together and stepped out into the hall. Stiles and Scott abruptly stopped talking when I closed my bedroom door behind me. They were both looking at me with wide, uncertain eyes.

"What?" I self-consciously asked, tugging the strap of my bag higher up my shoulder.

"You changed." Scott observed, and I looked down at my outfit. I was now wearing some fairly nice clothes—a tight green crop top, high-waisted jeans, and my high-top sneakers. I brushed the bangs out of my eyes and tucked them back into the rest of my hair, which was pulled back.

"I think you look nice," Stiles kindly noted, and I looked away as a blush rose to my cheeks. Biting back a smile, I started towards the stairs, but when my hand touched the railing I hesitated.

"Uh, you guys be careful tonight, okay?" I said without turning around. "Whatever you're doing I mean. Just—don't get arrested." I paused and smirked thoughtfully. "At least not without me."

Silence met my ears for a few seconds, and Stiles' voice met my ears first. "Why don't you come with us?"

"You be careful, too." Scott said, and Stiles grew quiet again. I clenched my jaw and rolled my eyes to the ceiling. I waited for another breath, listening as I could hear someone smacking someone else's shoulder followed by a grunt of pain.

I shook my head and quickly bounded down the steps, slipping out of the house and across the yard. Danny's car idled outside, and I smiled as I slid into the passenger seat.

"Hey there, sexy thang," I cheerily greeted, and Danny's dimples winked at me.

"Ready to get crazy?"

"Always," I held up a bag of Doritos and Danny nodded. "Got the rest of the stuff you asked for, too."

"Fantastic," His voice was suspiciously upbeat as he shifted into drive and pulled away from the curve.

"I gotta say, when you specifically requested the other stuff I was a little surprised. I never pegged you for a _Twinkie_ sort of guy."

"What?" He snorted, briefly sending me a strange glance as he drove along the dark road.

"Yeah, I mean, I thought you'd go for the Ding-Dongs—" I snickered as Danny booed me and I reached down to check the time on my phone. "So how's Jack Ass?"

"He's fine." Danny deadpanned, gently steering the car around a corner. The smile on my face hesitated as I took in his sober expression, and I pursed my lips and looked out the windshield.

"Oh." I said. The car grew quiet and when Danny pulled up to a red light, I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "Look, Danny, I think I owe you an apology."

He sent me a funny look. "For what?"

"I was a hypocrite today," I said, the muscle in my jaw jumping slightly. "Because I let you down, and I was complaining— _preaching_ , basically, about how," I scoffed and shook my head bitterly. "About how everyone's a jerk and they'll all let you down." _Scott_.

"So I guess you were just being honest, then." Danny mused, though not unkindly. I rolled my eyes over to him and couldn't help but smile back at his wolfish grin.

I shook my head and focused on my hands in my lap. "I just—I don't want to let you down." Taking a deep breath, I looked out the window for my next part. "Believe it or not, you're kind of the best friend I have right now."

"Gee, _thanks_." He dryly snorted, mistaking my discomfort for sarcasm. "It's nice to know how highly I rate."

"I'm serious!"

Danny dropped his attitude and glanced curiously at me. His expression fell, and an awkward silence stretched between us as he continued to glance at me and the road.

"Go ahead, you can say it. It's pathetic."

" _No_ , no that's not what I was thinking—"

I gave him a flat look and he smirked crookedly and shrugged a shoulder.

"I'm just… flattered, that's all." Danny paused thoughtfully. "And, for what it's worth, you're… kind of the best friend I have right now, too."

"I thought Jack Ass held that title," I said, my voice sardonic.

"Well, he lost that when he told me to mind my own business today."

Danny pulled into the driveway to his giant house, and I blew a slow sigh out of my lips. "That's funny, Scott told me something similar." I paused and gave Danny a funny look as I opened the door to get out. "Boys suck."

" _Hey_ ," Danny laughed, pushing me out of his car.

* * *

Danny was sprawled on his couch, having changed into sweat pants and a tank-top, and his feet were propped up on the arm rest. I sat on the floor in front of the couch, my feet propped up on the coffee table. I had also changed into my skinny sweat pants and tank top, and my short hair was pulled into a high, stubby ponytail. "Captain America or Iron Man?" He asked.

"Eh, neither. Loki."

"Okay," Danny playfully mused. "So you like the angsty, tortured types?"

I scoffed and shook my head. " _No_ , that's crazy! Loki is bad ass."

"Loki's a spoiled brat who has daddy issues."

"Everyone has daddy issues."

"I don't have daddy issues," Danny snorted.

"You have _step_ daddy issues."

"He's not an _issue_ ," Danny pointed out, tapping my shoulder to emphasize his point. "…Most of the time."

"Eh," I reluctantly murmured. " _Fine_. You're freakin' perfect, happy?"

"Damn straight." Danny smirked. "If only Jackson would admit that."

"Jackson only sees himself as perfect." I paused to consider something. "He's _blind_ , of course, but _definitely_ way too self-absorbed to ever admit otherwise."

"How sweet of you to say," Danny blandly commented, and I threw my finger in the air to point in his general direction, even though he was sitting behind me.

"Hey! You listen here, mister. If I had a penis, I would be _all over_ you."

"If you had a penis, _I_ would be all over you."

"That's right," I smirked, holding my fist back to him. "Show me some love."

He bumped my fist and chuckled. "We've got a disturbed friendship, you know that right?"

"Eh, normal people are boring."

I brought some more popcorn up to my mouth and watched as Sam Winchester pushed a brunette against the wall and passionately kissed her. This is the episode where he hooks up, ironically, with a werewolf.

It seems that in the show, the only way to cure a werewolf is to kill the _sire._ Whatever that means. Maybe it's the person who bit the werewolf? I wonder if that would make Derek _Scott's_ sire. Oh, _god_ , that sounds like he's Scott's sugar daddy.

So if we kill Derek the sugar daddy, maybe Scott would be cured? And all our problems would be solved?

"Do you think that's actually possible?" Danny suddenly asked, and I blinked rapidly and focused on the screen.

It was the middle of the night in the show, just after Sam and this werewolf chick had made _sweet, sweet_ love, and Sam jolted awake. The camera slowly spanned over his shoulder as he turned to look, and the music screeched as the woman bared her wolf-fangs at him and snarled viciously before hopping out the window.

"Uh—" I sputtered, considering Danny's question. "W-What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you really think Jackson would ever…"

"Oh," I breathed in relief and shook my head as I chuckled to myself. _Phew_ , that was close. Danny nudged my shoulder and I quickly sobered my face. I sat up on my knees and turned around to lean over the couch. "You really wanna know what I think?"

Danny nodded impatiently.

"I think you're too good for Jackson. I think Jackson is a self-absorbed, insensitive glory hog, and I think he and Lydia are a match made in heaven."

Danny almost flinched at that last part, and I was quick to justify my words.

"You, on the other hand? You're the perfect catch. You're sweet, thoughtful, loyal—hotter than Ryan Gosling in a play-pen of puppies," I tilted my head back and tried to maintain a serious face. "And most of all, you're _way_ too good for some asshole who thinks it's okay to belittle your feelings."

Danny snorted and waved me off femininely. " _Stop_ , I'm blushing," He scandalously laughed, and then sat forward and propped his hand on his chin. "Tell me more."

I threw my head back and laughed. "That's it!" I proclaimed, taking him by the hand. I tried to drag him off the couch, but Danny is _heavy_. And strong _. Ugh._ Those muscles aren't just for show… "I can't take this anymore, come on! Get up!"

"Where are we going?" Danny practically whined, trudging slowly after me.

"We're going to find you a rebound."

"A rebound?" He scoffed. "I don't know what school _you've_ been going to, but Beacon Hills is _not_ the best dating pool for me."

"That's why we're moving up," I mischievously said, and he tilted his head back to give me a suspicious look.

"What are you saying," He quietly drawled, and I pushed him towards his closet.

"Trust me." I plucked out a shirt and held it up to him, tilting my head thoughtfully as I considered the choice. "Everything is going to be _great_."

* * *

We stood across the street from the building, looking at the daunting height.

" _How_ did you hear about this place again?" Danny's voice was curiously tight. I frowned amusedly at him and caught him scratching the back of his neck. _Awww_ , he's nervous!

"I come here every Thursday night." I said with a completely straight face.

Danny whipped around to gawk at me and I struggled to keep the charade up, the corner of my mouth twitching. "W-What?" He sputtered.

"Thirsty Thursday has a three dollar drink special."

Danny smacked my shoulder and I dissolved into my classic maniacal laughter, my eyes squeezing shut. "Seriously, how'd you hear about it?"

I took a deep breath to calm myself and reached up to grip his shoulder. "Let's just say I was browsing Yelp earlier today and this place seems to be _quite_ the hit," I smirked up at Danny's curious stare and shrugged. "You want to get over Jackson, right?"

"Yeah," Danny unhappily admitted. "I mean—no. I mean— _yes_. Ugh, I don't know…"

"Look at him!" I exclaimed, pointing to the line of men curling around the front of the club. The one who was showing his ID to the bouncer was a tall wall of muscles, with thick black hair and a strong Italian nose. "I can smell his Gucci cologne from here."

"Jackson wears Gucci," Danny absently said, and I gripped his shoulder tightly enough to cut him off.

"Danny, stop. You're torturing yourself. I mean, _look_ at all these fine men," I swept my hand along the line and laughed. "This is going to be fun!" Danny hesitated. "It will! If you let yourself _enjoy_ it. These are _sexy_ , available men, who are perfectly willing to make you forget Jackson's name, let alone what _cologne_ he wears," I said with a distasteful curl of my lip.

Danny sighed grudgingly, but his shoulders lost some of their tension as he forced himself to lighten up and I could tell he was actually trying to let himself be open to this. I grabbed him by the hand before he could change his mind, dragging him across the street and to the end of the line.

We stood at the mouth of an alley, and I reached into my pocket to check my phone. I brought my thumb to my mouth. Scott hadn't texted or contacted me in any way all night. It was pretty dark out now, and I was nervous that he and Stiles had gotten into trouble. But they're probably okay. Right? I mean, they can handle things on their own… right?

Danny suddenly let out an anxious noise of discontent, practically squirming in place. I frowned and shoved my phone back into my pocket. "These don't even look real," Danny panicked, shaking his head down at the fake IDs I had him print for us. "We're going to get caught—what if—"

"Danny," I said, covering his mouth with my hand. He looked down at me with wide eyes and I gently pried the IDs from his hand. "You let me do the talking, okay? All you have to do is stand there and look gorgeous." I paused to look down at the IDs. According to this square of plastic I was twenty-two, had been for about six months, and Danny was twenty one to the day.

"I mean—I think I look a little older than you." Danny noted.

"Probably." I said lightly, pulling him forward in line. We were next, and Danny seemed disturbed at my lack of concern.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," He started and I waved my hand at him.

"This is a _great_ idea."

The bouncer nodded the next guy in, and Danny and I stepped up. The bouncer wasn't the stereotypical hulking bald man, he was actually fairly average sized, with a mustache and beard and a beanie. He frowned slightly at me and looked me over, but when his eyes turned to Danny his stare lingered. His eyes glanced over Danny, lingering on his chest a bit, and then smirked at me.

"IDs, please." He held his hand out and I smiled as I passed over the squares of plastic. He looked down at mine first, and then glanced up at me. "Twenty-two, eh?"

I swallowed and shifted on my feet, grabbing Danny's arm. "He's just turned twenty-one," I explained. "He's been through a really bad break up with this total jack ass," Danny's muscles in his arms tightened and I smirked. "I want to get his mind off him. What better way to celebrate your twenty-first birthday?"

The bouncer looked between me and Danny for a few more moments, fingering the IDs in his hand thoughtfully. "Happy birthday," He finally said, passing the IDs back to Danny.

His fingers brushed Danny's _accidentally_ , and I felt my smirk grow as he nodded us in.

I practically skipped inside, my face nearly splitting in two at the dark, thumping ambiance inside. The dance floor seemed to take up the entire building—which was massive in itself and packed wall to wall with muscled, sweaty men.

"Audrey," Danny called over the music, and I leaned closer to hear him. "You are a genius."

I followed his suddenly glittering eyes to a guy who was seated at the bar, noting their locked gaze. The guy had pretty blonde hair that was perfectly styled, and dimples the size of craters in his cheeks. He bit his cheek in an adorable way to disguise his grin as he dropped his eyes coyly down to the bar.

" _Hot damn,"_ I murmured, giving Danny a light shove in his direction. "Captain America is your type, huh?"

Danny snorted and patted my arm before practically prancing off to the guy. I beamed as he nervously approached him and they momentarily had their backs to me. Blondie slid some money onto the bar, Danny peeking around him to give me a thumbs up while he was distracted, and then they stepped away from the bar and Blondie led Danny by the hand over towards the dance floor.

I sighed and suddenly looked around. _Shit_ , I'm out of place.

I took a breath and slowly weaved through the crowd, which actually parted a bit to let me pass. It seemed almost like the men in here didn't really want to touch me, and I couldn't help but feel a little offended and awkward when I finally slid onto a stool.

I couldn't decide whether it was just polite for them to lean away from me, or slightly offensive, but when the man on the stool next to me glanced over and did a double-take, studied me briefly, and then quickly abandoned his stool, I scoffed and frowned down at the black bar top.

"What do you need?"

I looked up at the bartender. He had dark hair and a tight fitting black shirt, his tanned skin reminding me severely of Danny. In fact, they could probably be brothers. I drew in a breath and pursed my lips as I thought over his question. "Well, apparently I could use a penis."

The bartender blinked widely and his mouth hung open in shock, his eyes flickering over me briefly, and my words registered in my mind.

" _Oh_ ," I gasped, frantically shaking my head. "That wasn't a come-on! I mean—it's just that—because I'm a girl," I sputtered and cleared my throat as my face burned hotly. "And this is a gay bar, it seems like no one here wants to talk to me because I'm not a boy."

The bartender smirked widely and he frowned slightly, his dark eyes glancing over me again in a less _scandalized_ and more _amused_ fashion. "I wasn't going to ask, but now I have to," He said as he reached down to grab something from under the bar. "What _are_ you doing here?"

He plopped a shot glass down in front of me and I tugged at the piercing in my ear as I turned to try and spot Danny in the crowd. It took a few moments, but I finally found him dancing over in a throng of men. He seemed to be having the time of his life—and was especially close to a certain blonde. I turned back to the bartender. "See that tall drink of water?" I called, pointing Danny out.

The bartender nodded as he poured something amber colored into my shot glass.

"That's my friend, Danny." I turned back and pursed my lips crookedly, tilting my head as I grabbed my shot glass between my fingers. "I'm his wing man."

"His wing man?" The bartender snorted, wiping his hands on his towel. I threw my shot back and choked at the burning liquid, and the bartender narrowed his eyes knowingly as if my sputtering disaster of a way for me to handle that shot confirmed something. As soon as I smacked the glass back down to the counter, he quickly reached out and took it away. "He seems to be doing fine on his own."

I pouted as he stuck the shot glass under the counter but chose not to complain—mostly because I never expected to _actually_ get a drink in the first place.

"Yeah," I sighed, my stomach feeling warm now with whatever alcohol I just consumed. "I guess he is."

"Don't tell me you're the designated driver," The bartender smirked, tilting his head at me.

"Nah," I pulled my phone out and peered anxiously at the blank screen. _Still_ , no word? "Danny probably won't drink tonight."

"Why's that?"

I froze. _Because he has a game tomorrow night._ I glanced awkwardly up at the bartender as I shoved my phone back into my pocket. "Uh, he's—you know. The body is the temple, and all that," I winced at my awkward explanation. "Alcohol is poison? He only puts pure things in his body."

The bartender was giving me a bizarre look so I quickly shrugged a shoulder.

"He's weird." I summarized.

The bartender nodded and considered me briefly. "…I feel like I shouldn't ask your age, considering I just gave you a shot, but something tells me you're not as old as I originally thought."

I raised an eyebrow and blinked rapidly. He thought I was older? But I have a baby face! I quickly schooled my features and gave him a wide grin. "I'm Audrey," I said, holding my hand out.

He took it and gave a firm shake, nodding his head at me. "Lucas." Someone flagged him from the other side of the bar, and he gestured to them before letting go of my hand and smiling crookedly at me. "It was nice meeting you."

The rest of the night, the bartender and I engaged in this weird little tango. Someone at the bar would buy me a drink, and he would be forced to give it to me, but he always took the alcohol out of it. This happened about three times before I finally decided to take matters into my own hands.

I mean—I'm in a club. A _gay_ club. I'm here to support my friend, who clearly doesn't need any help anyways, and now I'm awkwardly sitting at a bar. I need to drink, otherwise, this night will be a bust for me, and I can't ask Danny to leave yet.

I brought my drink up to my mouth and tried to catch the skinny straw without looking, my eyes combing the dancing crowd. Most of the men here were having a stupidly good time—grinding against each other, flirting shamelessly, groping—it was actually a little unnerving. I'd never seen such open sexuality before. Sometimes, some of the stuff I witnessed even made me blush.

I blew bubbles into my drink and someone slid onto the stool next to me. I glanced over to see a frat looking guy. He had thick dark hair and scruff on his face, and he looked ready to go dine in a country club somewhere.

He tapped the bar with his knuckles, drawing the attention of the _other_ bartender who had yet to even look my way. This bartender was blonde, wore no shirt, and flirted shamelessly with the patrons. He swaggered over and came to a dramatic stop, tilting his head at the man.

"Andrew." He sighed. I sat up a little more in interest, but tried to disguise it as best as I could. Neither of them were paying a lick of attention to me—so it didn't seem to matter anyways. "I thought you were going to stop coming here?"

"Aw, Mason, I couldn't stay away for too long! You need me." Andrew smirked widely and looked over Mason. "Say, have you been taking my advice on the pre-workout drink?" Mason rolled his eyes and looked away, a strangely unhappy smirk playing at his lips. "You're looking swole, bro." Mason scoffed and started to turn away. "Seriously. You're so swole, it's gotta be the drink—"

Andrew snickered to himself when Mason basically stormed away, the man's mood visibly darker as he snappishly took orders from the next customer that approached him.

I watched Andrew curiously and noted the way he held himself so confidently. He pulled a pill bottle out of his pocket and popped it open, dumping some into his hand and quickly capturing them in his mouth.

He swallowed them dry and suddenly held the bottle out to me. "Want some?" He asked, and I sputtered into my drink and choked on it. He watched, amused, as I gasped and pressed my hand to my chest to try and get my breathing back under control.

I laughed nervously and glanced away. "W-What? No. I mean, no thanks."

He shrugged and shoved the bottle back into his pocket. "Your loss." He turned back to the bar and tried to flag Mason down, but Mason just rolled his eyes and turned his back to him. Lucas was no help either—he kept shooting him venomous glares and ignoring the strange guy. Andrew sat back on his stool and sighed, visibly contemplating something. He sat still for about another two seconds before he suddenly pounced onto the bar and slid over the top.

He quickly reached down as if he knew right were everything was at, plucking up a glass and unscrewing the cap of a bottle of rum. He turned it upside down and the liquid sloshed out, making a literal _glug, glug, glug_ sound as he filled his glass.

"Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of—"

" _Drew_ ," Lucas suddenly scolded, rushing over to snatch the bottle out of hands and accidentally spilled some onto the bar. "Get out from behind the here! You're a _customer_."

"Really?" Drew mused, grabbing his glass thoughtfully. "Could've fooled me. I've been trying to get you to serve me for the past twenty minutes, and you just ignore me like I'm not even sitting there."

I bit my lip to stifle my amusement, because it'd only been maybe—two, three minutes at the most since Andrew sat down. He teasingly frowned at Lucas, bobbing his head with each word. " _Rude_ , Lucas. _Rude_."

I placed my chin in my palm and watched with interest as Lucas shook his head in disgust and pointed to the end of the bar. "You need to go sit down, Andrew, I won't ask you again."

Andrew rolled his eyes dramatically as he let out a groan and went to saunter his way towards the end of the bar. "God, Lucas, lighten up, would ya? You're killing the atmosphere."

"I'm not paying for that—" Lucas added, pointing directly at Andrew.

The frat boy raised his glass in a mocking cheer, and surprisingly, made his way back over to me. I watched as he slid into the seat next to me with a sigh as he settled. Finally, he directed his attention to me.

"Well hello, honey," His voice darkened to a smooth, suave tone as his eyes climbed over my face and down my neck—resting at my chest. They flickered back up to my face. "Those are real, which means _you're_ a girl."

My face scorched bright red and I sputtered at him again, my brain failing to form a coherent thought. "Wh—You—I mean… what?"

Andrew smirked devilishly, suddenly holding his palm out to me. I blinked down at it and he raised his eyebrows and made a grabbing motion. "Come on, then," He said. "Drink's not gonna spike itself."

My mouth popped open and I glanced down at my Coke, looking back up at him in silent question. He nodded his head and made that grabbing motion again. I glanced over at the bartenders, who were pointedly ignoring Andrew, and slowly extended my drink to him.

He sighed and tipped his glass, letting just a fraction of his drink fill my cup, and once he seemed satisfied, he pulled his glass back to his lips and took a sip. He actually seemed really smug with himself as he looked me over again, mischief dancing in his eyes.

I curiously raised my glass to my lips and gingerly took a sip, my eyebrows pulling together at the strangely sweet and spicy flavor. "Cuba Libre." He suddenly added, and I shook my head.

"Sagittarius."

Andrew threw his head back and laughed, and it was a pleasing, deep belly laugh. He beamed at me and set his drink on the counter. "You're cute." He tilted his head at me almost predatorily, and I scoffed nervously, running a hand over my ponytail as I looked away. Well, he certainly doesn't _seem_ gay. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

I frowned slightly but couldn't help the grin that spread across my lips. "Uhh…" I momentarily considered lying, but something about Andrew was so exciting that I just felt the need to be honest. "Audrey."

"Ah, you know, I could've guessed." He winked at me and that dashing smile graced his face again. "You're the spitting image of Audrey Hepburn."

"Hey," Lucas suddenly said, fixing me with a meaningful gaze. I hadn't noticed his approach. He nodded somewhere in the distance, pointedly ignoring Andrew. "Your friend seems to need you. You better go."

I turned to follow his stare, and when I saw Danny trying to flag me down, I set my drink back on the bar and gave Lucas an appreciative smile. "Thanks," I paused and waved at Andrew. "It was… interesting meeting you." I said, looking him over. I decided against adding anything else, satisfied with that comment, and made my way over to Danny.

* * *

"Do you think it's too soon to text him?" Danny gushed, as we walked back to the car and he fiddled with his phone.

I snorted out a laugh and frowned at him. "Now? _Right_ now? You just left the club!"

Danny grinned and squinted his eyes. "Yeah, you're probably right."

I smirked and shook my head. "You don't want to seem _too_ desperate."

"Ugh, he was just so _hot_." Danny dreamily sighed as he threw his arm over my shoulder and we paused before crossing the street. "You know, he does volunteer work in South Africa." I raised my eyebrows and hummed appreciatively. "Yeah, he does this surf outreach thing and helps local kids connect and build valuable life skills."

I snorted. "He _surfs?_ " Danny nodded enthusiastically and I shook my head in amusement. "I didn't realize you guys did much _talking_."

Danny's face tinted pink and I almost fell over myself trying to refrain from going _awwwww_ and embarrassing him. "I think we really connected." He fixed me with a sincere gaze, biting at his lip. "I _really_ like him."

I smiled at him and shoved his shoulder playfully. "Danny, that's amazing!"

"Hey!" Someone called from behind us, scaring the bejeezus out of me. I jumped and immediately grabbed Danny's arm as we whirled around in surprise. A police officer was practically stomping towards us, muttering something into her… walkie-talkie thing on his shoulder.

I gasped and squeezed Danny's arm tightly. "Shit, shit, shit," I breathed, and Danny placed a placating hand on my arm.

" _Relax_ , we haven't done anything wrong," He quickly whispered. "We didn't even drink."

"Actually…" I started, and Danny's head snapped down in my direction. " _Shhh_ ," I hissed, as the police officer finally came close enough to speak to us.

"What are you kids doing out so late?" She frowned, looking all around the street before she focused intently on us. "Are you aware there's been a county wide curfew placed for children under the age of 18?"

 _Curfew? What?_ Danny cleared his throat. "Yeah, but uh, we're just on our way home now."

The officer shook her head. "I'm going to have to escort you home." She said.

I frowned and looked at Danny questioningly. "Can she do that?" I muttered, and the woman's eyes flashed.

"Actually, I can do whatever I want. It's not that I don't trust you—it's just that I don't trust you." She shook her head and suddenly softened a bit, and I felt stuck between amused and exasperated because that made _zero_ sense. "Beacon Hills has been a dangerous place these last few weeks. It's not safe for you to be out this late."

I sighed and Danny put his arm over my shoulder in comfort.

"Come on," The officer gestured towards her car. "I'll escort you home."

I let out a quiet groan, running my hand over my face. "My mom is gonna _flip_ …"

* * *

The officer pulled away from Danny's house, and I checked my phone.

Nothing.

I sighed and considered calling or texting my brother, warning him that I'd be arriving home in a _police_ car. Even if I'm in the passenger seat, which is preferable to the back seat, it still wouldn't look that great.

"You know, you're familiar." The woman suddenly said. I frowned up at her and sighed.

"I was—uh—I know the Sheriff. I'm friends with his son, Stiles?"

The officer snorted and nodded knowingly. "Oh, yeah, I know you all right." She wagged her finger back at me with a smile. "You're the one who Stilinski talks about sometimes."

"The Sheriff is a good guy." I nodded with a friendly smile, and the officer raised her eyebrows and nodded.

"Well sure, he's a good man, and a damn good cop. But I was talking about his son."

My mouth grew dry as words failed me and everything flew out of my mind. I stared dumbly at the side of the officer's face, and she beamed hugely at me, apparently loving this to death. "Oh, you didn't know?"

"K-Know what?" I stuttered, blinking rapidly. My voice was strangely high and I sat forward in my seat anxiously. "Know what—what does he say, like what sorts of things does he say about me, what do you know?"

She grinned deeply and chuckled, nodding at the road. "Oh, he says quite a bit, actually."

"He talks about _me?_ Specifically, he talks about me?" It occurred to me that I should probably at least try not to seem so anxious to know more, but I couldn't help it.

The officer nodded as she drove, "That's right," she laughed.

My eyes trailed over to the windshield and I sat back in my seat as I let this new information sink in. " _Really_ …"

Stiles talks about _me?_ At his dad's work? To _other_ people?

"Your Scott's little sister, aren't you?" She continued, and I blinked and nodded slowly as it finally clicked.

"Oh," I breathed, smacking my forehead with the back of my fist. "Yes. Yes, of course. I'm Scott's little sister."

The officer's smile hesitated as she looked at me. "Well, yeah." She said. "He likes you a lot."

I took a breath and nodded with a smile. "Yeah, I like Stiles, too. He's a good friend."

She looked back at the road and seemed to want to add something. "Sure, he seems like it." She paused and considered something. "Maybe a little hyper, but he's probably a good friend."

I sighed and was stricken with the urge to talk to him. I looked down at my phone, which was still strangely blank from texts. Maybe I should call them? At least to let them know that I would arrive home in a squad car? You know, a heads up, so they can break it to mom easily and she's not blind-sided. _Not_ because I was curious about what they'd been up to tonight.

I was about to do just that, when suddenly the radio cackled and the voice of dispatch filled the interior of the car.

They spouted a bunch of codes I didn't understand—and then I caught this. "—body at the Hale house. Two minors are present, unharmed but shaken. Requesting all dispatch."

My mouth dropped open and I bolted upright in the seat. "Copy that," The police officer said into her receiver. "Unit 46 responding." She flicked on the radio off and turned to glance at me beside her. "Look, I'm almost to your house, so I'll drop you off really quickly and I'll just have to stop by in the morning to talk—"

"No, it's fine," I quickly said, shaking my head so hard my bangs fell in my eyes. "That sounded really important. We can't be far from the Hale house, right?"

She hesitated.

"Come on," I added. "It could be dangerous! There are two minors there, you heard dispatch! They could be in trouble."

"Exactly." She said, shaking her head. "It's dangerous."

"I'll stay in the car." I put my hands up and shook my head. "I swear, cuff me in here if you have to, do whatever. Lock me in, these cars can do that, right?"

She looked back at me, considering it for another moment.

"It can be like a—like a ride along, or something. I'll fill the paperwork out if you want. _Really_. It sounded serious."

She sighed and shook her head and turned the siren on. "I'm gonna regret this…"

* * *

When we pulled into the long driveway, there were already several squad cars on the scene. I was practically hanging over the dash, my face pressed against the windshield as I combed the front lawn for any sight of my brother or Stiles at all.

Something in my gut told me it was them. It _had_ to be. Scott said he found something that could get Derek arrested—and dispatch mentioned two minors at the _Hale_ house? Come on. It's them.

"Stay in the car," She said, pointing at my face seriously. I nodded and she shook her head. "I mean it. If I find out you tried to get out and take a look around, I'm gonna charge you with obstruction of justice."

My eyebrows shot up and I put my hands out complacently. " _Geez_ , lady, _all right!_ "

She narrowed her eyes at me and watched me for a few more seconds. I put my hands down and looked away awkwardly, and she finally reached out to open the door. As soon as she shut it, the locks on the doors clicked, and I sighed as I tried to catch sight of either Scott or Stiles.

I looked down at the door and back outside. Most of the squad seemed concentrated around the side of the house. The Sheriff's car was here, and I sighed as I spotted Stiles' jeep. I tilted my head and squinted my eyes in the darkness.

Sure enough, there was a dark silhouette seated in the passenger seat. I bit my lip and leaned forward. Waving my hands, I tried to catch their attention.

The silhouette was very still, and seemed to have no idea anyone was trying to catch their attention. Frustration bubbled inside me as I leaned forward to knock on the windshield, waving my hands frantically. "Hello!" I murmured, and sighed in annoyance when they continued to sit there obliviously.

I sat back with a huff and crossed my arms, pouting as I tried to think of how I could catch their attention. I glanced over at the horn and bit my lip again.

…Is it too much?

Is there any other way?

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, but when I clicked at it, it stayed black. Frustration welled up in my chest and my jaw dropped as I jabbed uselessly at the buttons. Dead?! It can't be dead—what is this, a cheesy horror film!?

I sighed angrily and stuffed the useless piece of technology back into my pockets, fixing the horn with an unhappy glare.

I frowned and thought hard about it, but nothing came to mind. Sitting here waving my arms like an idiot isn't going to catch any attention, but if I honk the horn I might just get in trouble.

Cursing under my breath, I hesitantly reached out and touched the cool leather of the steering wheel, right over the horn. I glanced back at the jeep and paused, looking to the area where all the police officers were focused.

I hesitated one more second before jamming the heel of my hand into the horn very briefly—an extremely loud _beep!_ echoing through the trees.

The silhouette in the jeep whirled around to look at me, and I waved my arms frantically. It froze and I saw it look back to the cops, and I followed suit, wincing when I saw all the police officers gawking at me with annoyed frowns on their faces.

The woman who brought me looked absolutely furious. I dropped my hand meekly, scratching the back of my neck when the Sheriff stormed over to her and promptly began to chew her out. He pointed at me and I sank in my seat.

I bit my thumb and looked back to the jeep, and froze. Frowning, I leaned forward and squinted as I looked all over the jeep—but no matter where I looked or how hard I squinted, it was the same. Empty.

 _Ugh!_ What the hell?... _Really?!_ All of that was for nothing?!

A hand knocked at the window and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Scott pointed down at the handle and I breathed out in relief upon seeing his face. I tried the door, but it was definitely locked. I pointed down at the handle and shook my head. "It's locked—where's Stiles? Is he okay?" I said, and when he nodded in frustration I realized he could hear me.

Then I felt _really_ stupid. I should have just yelled for him! He could've heard me! God, what the fu—

Stiles suddenly slid to a stop next to Scott, wagging a key ring triumphantly. He reached down and immediately jammed a key into the door, and I couldn't help but note how _intensely_ illegal it must be for Stiles to have keys to the squad cars.

I jumped out of the car and threw my arms around their necks. "Oh, my God!" I gushed, squeezing them to me as hard as I could. "I've been so worried—when she got that call I thought the worst, and—" I broke away and immediately swatted them both over the head.

They simultaneously ducked and winced, and I fixed them both with harsh glares.

"Just what in the Sam Hill are you two _doing_ out here!?"

"No, what are _you_ doing out here in a _cop_ car!?" Stiles exclaimed, flapping his hand at me incredulously. "You were supposed to be out with your friends!"

"I was!" I cried, pointing to them separately. "And _you two!_ You two were out _here_ , in the middle of the night, _why?"_

Scott stepped forward. "We found the other half of the body."

"What!?"

"It was buried over there," Stiles pointed over to the gaggle of policemen, who had turned their attention back to the scene of the crime. I gasped and turned away. "It gets weirder—it started out as a wolf. And it was buried in some sort of— _weird_ ritual."

"Ritual?" I asked, my stomach dropping. "I can't believe you two came out here alone. What if Derek had been home? What if he caught you two? What if—"

"We're fine," Scott insisted. "Audrey, why are you here? How did you get here? Were you being _arrested?_ " Stiles' eyes widened and he stepped forward, and my mind flashed back to the woman saying something about Stiles talking about me.

I sighed and gestured back to the car. "Danny and I got escorted home because of the curfew."

"Why were you guys out?"

"I took him—you know what?" I shook my head. "That's not even important, what matters right now is why you two felt the need to come out _here_ alone, of all places!"

"I—I don't even know how to begin," Scott sighed, and Stiles shook his head in agreement.

"How about you start at the beginning?" I crossed my arms as they exchanged a glance and took a breath.

* * *

"You guys are stupid." I said, my arms still crossed. Stiles scoffed, but seemed amused as he lifted an exasperated hand at me.

"Well—really?" He snorted. "That's all you take away from that?"

"Yeah, _this_ is what I take away from that—" I pointed at Scott. "You came here when you threw your little bitch fit yesterday afternoon," I started, and Stiles hid a smirk behind his hand. "You were threatened _once again_ by Derek Hale, but you smelled _blood_ on his property, and saw a mound of dirt beside his house. Almost—one could say—a mound of dirt that looked like a _freshly dug grave_." I tilted my head and squinted my eyes at him. "Am I getting this right so far?"

Scott sighed in frustration and shifted on his feet. "No, you've got it wrong—"

" _I'm not finished_." I put my hand up to silence him and Stiles was careful not to look at Scott as I continued, still hiding his mouth behind his hand. "You smelled blood and you saw a freshly dug grave, and rather than call the police, like any _rational_ human being would do— _you_ decide to go out and investigate this yourself."

Scott's jaw clenched and he fixed me with a hard glare. "I'm not a human."

" _Oh_ , don't give me that crap," I sneered, throwing my hands up at him. "I'm a werewolf, _boo hoo_ , I'm bitten, _wah_ , I can never be normal again—so I might as well _throw caution to the wind_ —"

"It's not _like_ that—"

"Shut up!" I snapped, and Scott and I were nose-to-nose. Stiles hovered awkwardly over us, seeming torn over whether to break this up or not. Wisely, he decided to stay out of it for now. "This was a stupid decision! You should have called the cops!"

"But we're fine!" Scott cried, smacking his chest before pointing at Stiles. "We're _fine_ , and now we know what was _really_ out here. If I had called the cops, who's to say they would have even told us what they found?"

"Why does that matter?" I cried. "Who _cares?_ It doesn't matter _what_ was found out here—because we need to stay as far away from this as humanly possible!"

"Stop _saying_ that!" Scott roared, and I screamed _what_ back at him. "I'm not human! Don't you get it?!"

I threw my hands in the air and only just stopped myself from pulling my hair out. "You know—I just can't _believe_ you two think this was a _good_ idea!"

"It was the only way to know for sure." Stiles finally interjected, and I fixed my glare on him. He didn't even flinch. "Even if Scott had called the cops, we couldn't tell them about the blood he smelled. And if Derek was here, he could've told them it was a _vegetable_ garden, and they'd _have_ to believe that."

I sat back and clamped my mouth shut, crossing my arms again. Stiles shook his head at me.

"Without a search warrant, it was the only way to know for sure."

I sighed and ran a hand over my hair. "It was reckless."

"It was necessary."

I pressed my lips together and glared at Stiles. "Stop making sense."

He smirked. "Can't."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're both idiots."

"But we were right."

"Agree to disagree."

Stiles nodded and we looked back at Scott, who seemed suddenly dumbfounded. We blinked at him and glanced back at warily each other. "What?" I said.

He shook his head and sighed. "Nothing," He muttered. "I'm gonna go see if I can hear what they're saying."

I watched as he trudged away with his feet dragging, and I rolled my eyes and looked back at Stiles. "I hate that you two keep doing dangerous things like this."

It was daylight out now, and the cool air from last night clung around, making my breath come out in puffs as we spoke. Stiles stretched his mouth awkwardly and shrugged. "Sorry," He unapologetically said, and I rolled my eyes again. "What are you _wearing?_ "

I looked down at my outfit, which was the same thing I'd been wearing at the club. Black turtle-neck halter crop top that stopped just above my belly button, high-waisted skirt, and my favorite black ankle boots. I grinned up at him. "This is my clubbing outfit," I said, twirling with a flourish. "You like?"

He raised his eyebrows as he looked down at my shorts. "You've gotta be freezing."

I frowned and only _slightly_ pouted at that and shrugged. He pursed his lips disapprovingly, and started to shrug out of his jacket. "Oh," I put my hand out to wave him off. "No, Stiles, that's all right. Really. I'm all right—"

He held it out to me and fixed me with a glare. "Put that on, I'm cold just _looking_ at you."

I smirked as I took the fabric out of his hand. "That's probably just my soul."

He snorted and shoved his hands in his pockets, watching as I pulled the jacket over my shoulders and smiled at him.

I rolled my eyes and looked away. "Thank you." I uncomfortably shifted, and he sighed as he turned to look at Scott.

"What are we going to do about him?" He asked, and I walked closer to him to get a better look at Scott.

Lowering my voice, I leaned close to Stiles. "He can't play that game tonight."

Stiles sighed and shook his head. "I know, but what can we do if he wants to play?"

"I'll break his ankle or something." I calmly said, drawing a laugh from Stiles. The corner of my mouth tugged up as I glanced at him mischievously. "How hard can it be?"

Stiles mockingly winced, "Hate to break this to you, but I'm pretty sure he'll just heal now."

"Rats," I snapped my finger and sighed. "Foiled again."

Stiles sighed and put his arm over my shoulder to steer me away suddenly. I frowned and started to duck out from under his arm, and Stiles only tightened his grip to push me towards the jeep. "Come on, it's freezing," He said as I gently continued to fight him. "You shouldn't be out here!"

"Oh, fine." I snapped, letting him basically shove me towards the jeep. I opened the door and slid onto the seat, the leather cold under my legs. I froze as I caught Stiles' curious stare. He seemed deep in thought as he stared, weirdly, at my shoes. I raised an eyebrow at him and wiggled my foot. "I doubt they're your size, but if you want to try them—"

"What? No," He laughed, scrunching his face at me. "Could you imagine though—"

I threw my head back and covered my eyes as I laughed, "Oh, no, I totally can," I shook my head and bit back a snort. "I can't unsee it."

Stiles stepped away and jutted his hip out, his hands on his hips as he fixed me with a fierce stare and suddenly jerked his hips to the other side, rocking back and forth as he sang, "Up in the club, we just broke up," He nodded his head and kicked his foot out to change hips. "I'm doin' my own little thing."

I was desperately trying to keep quiet, cackling with gut-wrenching laughter as he suddenly sprang and started running in a circle with his hands on his hips as he twitched around like Beyonce, continuing to sing. "I'm up on him, he up on me—"

" _Stiles_ ," His dad snapped from his spot with the other cops. Stiles froze with wide eyes, his hands still on his hips from where he'd bent to try and twerk, and he blinked dumbly. They all stared at him with varying degrees of amusement and I quietly cleared my throat, trying to hold in my snorts.

"Don't pay him any attention." I filled in, waving my hand at them dismissively. Stiles snorted and quickly stood straight, scratching at his head awkwardly. He twitched as he turned between me and a spot on the ground, pretending like he had been bent over to _search_ for something.

"Nope, I don't see it," He said. "It's not anywhere, looks like you'll have to go half blind—there's no contact here—"

"It's fine, it's fine," I said, beckoning him back to me with my hand. He quickly fled the scene and rushed over, and his dad narrowed his eyes but finally turned away. His face was bright red and I couldn't help but giddily let out the girliest giggle I had in a while as he took me by the shoulders and tried to shush me while fighting his own laughter.

I gasped and pushed his chest away, something behind him catching my attention. Some police officers were leading Derek Hale out of his house in handcuffs. Stiles stood at my side as we watched the hulking, pissed werewolf get detained by police, his eyes focused on something in the trees. I followed his gaze and saw my brother leaning against the trunk of a tree, his expression troubled as Derek smirked almost _knowingly_ when the police officer pushed him into the back seat.

Stiles suddenly split away, my hand sliding from his shoulder, and I frowned. "Stiles," I called. He continued walking like he hadn't heard me, his hands in his pockets.

He glanced over his shoulder at me briefly, but offered no explanation while he casually walked down the driveway towards the cop cars.

I sat up and stood on my feet as he continued—straight for the car that the police had just stuck Derek in.

I gasped and wildly shook my head when Stiles paused to glance over at my brother—quietly shouting a firm _no_ while my brother simply shook his head so hard it almost popped off, but Stiles ignored both of us and tugged the passenger door open.

I couldn't scream, because I didn't want to draw attention to Stiles and get him in trouble, but no way in hell was I about to let him get away scot-free.

Scott came crashing through the woods to my side. "What is he _doing!?_ " He cried, and I shook my head furiously.

"I have no idea! He just _took off!"_

"So you _let_ him?"

"Oh, yeah, because that sounds _just_ like me." I smartly snorted, nodding my head at him.

"Well—what's he doing!?"

"I—" My mouth hung open as we both gawked at the car and waited for him to get out. "What's he saying!?"

Scott frowned and looked intently at the car, as if he could see through it too. But there _are_ windows, so maybe he could see, I don't know. It's too far for me.

"H-He's telling him he's not afraid of him," Scott whispered.

" _Idiot_ ," I hissed, shaking my head.

"He's asking about the body. He's trying to find out how she could turn herself into a wolf."

I sighed and bit my lip anxiously, glancing over to where the cops were standing. As if he felt my stare, Sheriff turned around and frowned at me. I quickly whirled on my heels and faced the other way, squeezing my eyes shut and mentally cursing myself.

"He just asked Derek why he killed her—oh crap!" Scott smacked my shoulder. "His dad is going over there! Shit! Crap, Stiles is getting busted, get in the jeep. Quick!"

We piled into the jeep, and I flung myself into the backseat as we did so.

I sighed and brought my thumb to my mouth as we both watched Stiles talk to his dad. Scott sighed and shook his head. "Sheriff knows we were both out that night you found the body."

"Crap, crap, crap!" I groaned, pressing the heels of my hands against my forehead. "He probably thinks we were all out messing around and causing trouble or something." I sighed and Scott turned to me.

"Hey—look," He awkwardly began. "I had no idea you were failing psychology—"

"Who told you that?" I snapped. _Stiles_. I frowned and looked away briefly. "Are you going to tell mom?"

" _What_ —no! Of course not!" Scott shook his head at me and raised his eyebrows. "Audrey, do you know how many classes I've failed over the years? It's not _like_ you to fail! What's going on?"

I sighed and smoothed my hand over my hair as I shook my head. "I don't know—I thought I could handle all these classes this year, but I really don't think I can."

"Well, it's still pretty early in the semester, I mean, don't you have time to turn it around?"

I shrugged a shoulder. "Sure, I mean, assuming I was able to get A's on all the rest of my assignments and tests, I might even get a low B."

"Well there." Scott resolved with a nod. "Do that."

I snorted. "It's not that _easy_ , Scott. I can't seem to understand the material! It's like, I think I have a good idea about what's going on, and then I take the tests and suddenly I get them back and I failed."

"Oh." He looked down and sighed. "So now what?"

"I guess I'll have to drop the class. If I do it now, while it's still early, then it's no big deal." I paused. "Or find a tutor."

"What about Danny?"

"Yeah, maybe," I said as Stiles finally climbed into the jeep.

"Come on, guys," He quickly reached down to start the engine. "Let's get out of here before my dad changes his mind."

I sighed and sat back.

* * *

I stood outside the jeep, looking up and down the road helplessly.

" _How_ does this keep happening!?" I cried, my hands in my hair. Scott ran off— _again_. And now we have to go find him— _again_. "Is this becoming a regular thing, I mean, what are we going to do!?"

Stiles shook his head as he skidded back onto the road, his bag in his hand as he almost tripped over his own feet. "Got it!" He breathlessly held it up to me and gasped for air. "I got it—" He quickly skipped back to the jeep. "We have to find him—come on!"

I rushed back to the jeep and dove inside, Stiles peeling away before I even had the chance to shut the door. "I swear to god, I'm buying a leash and never taking it off him!"

Stiles snorted and nodded his head as he tore around a corner. "I'll chip in for that," He dryly said.

I sighed and shook my head. "You know, this stopped being fun for me the minute Derek showed up at that party!"

Stiles glanced at me. He breathed out a hesitant laugh, "Y-You thought this was fun?"

"Well, I thought it could have been cool—you know—if it turned out to be true," I shook my head bitterly and looked out the window, searching for any sign of my brother in the trees. "But when Derek showed up at Lydia's party it was like… everything changed. Some freakin' _guy_ is following us around? Then Scott just took off, and we had to spend all night searching for him. It's not—I mean—I _liked_ researching about it. I liked coming up with ideas for what was going on, investigating with you and trying to ask my mom about symptoms like some sort of under cover cop—but then Derek started showing up everywhere, and Scott's… not _Scott_ anymore." I sighed sadly and shrugged.

"I know what you mean," Stiles admitted, and I looked hopefully at him. "I mean, ever since I was a little kid, I liked solving mysteries with my dad. But it's different now, you know?" He pressed his lips into a thin line. "I can't solve this with my dad. I gotta do this on my own, and that's—" He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head hesitantly. "That's a lot." He paused and glanced at me. " _This_ is a lot."

"It just sucks that we have to do this alone."

"I just have to keep telling myself that we're all alright."

"Me too." I sighed again and sank in the seat, and wondered how long we could lie to ourselves about that before it became too much.

My phone buzzed and I pulled it out of my pocket, looking down at the screen. I almost hit my head, I sat up in my seat so fast, and immediately put the phone to my ear. "Scott!?" I cried, and Stiles' head whipped around to look at me. "Where are you?"

* * *

 _ **More Danny was requested! So there we have it :) Hopefully the club scene was okay. I wasn't sure about it... and I hope you guys enjoyed how I managed to fit Audrey into the scene where they found the body and finally arrested Derek! I'll try to write more soon, but school is picking up again, so this might be it for a while, I dunno! Next chapter is the game!**_

 _ **By the way, I'm not a HUGE fan of my summary, so if anyone wanted to try writing a new one? I might use it!**_

 _ **ALSO - who do you guys picture as Audrey!? I can't stop picturing Maia Mitchell. Seriously, I have this one picture picked out that I might make as the cover photo.**_


	9. Chapter 8

_**It's been awhile, my beautiful followers! I'm sorry about that. But I just spent all day writing this, so... :D Yay! This chapter was completely unplanned. I hope you like it!**_

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

The policewoman who took me to the Hale house stood behind the front desk of the station. I barely had the chance to step through the entrance before she fixed me with a venomous glare, and I swear to god her hand flew to the gun holstered at her side.

If I said it wasn't intimidating I would be lying. But in all fairness, it did seem like a dramatic reaction. It's not like I had a bomb strapped to my chest or something. I hesitated in the doorway, casting a wary glance around the station. It was surprisingly… _quiet_. I don't know exactly what I was expecting at 7 AM, but the last time I was here it was midafternoon and I stayed only for a few brief moments as Stiles went to collect something from his father. Let's just say that at that time, the station was significantly busier.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, and she just looked blandly at me. "I was just…" I focused my gaze on the annoyed woman glaring at me from behind the desk. "Is the Sheriff in?"

"You should be in school." She completely ignored my question and crossed her arms at me.

"Not for another forty minutes," I easily dodged with a wink that only seemed to inflame her fury. Suddenly, coming here without calling first seemed like poor planning. I cleared my throat and opened my mouth to ask after the Sheriff again, but she cut me off.

"Fine. So what do you need? Is there an emergency?"

"No, no—"

"Are you trying to sell us something? Because we're not interested. We spend enough of your tax dollars on collecting reckless teens who stay out past curfew as it is, there's no need to waste any more on Girl Scout cookies."

My jaw dropped. _Where_ was this attitude coming from!?

I took a step back and frowned at her with my own healthy dose of defiance shining through. When she didn't apologize or snap out of her unprofessionally sassy tone, I scoffed. "Actually, I was going to ask the Sheriff not to fire you for bringing me to the scene last night." Her resolve flickered and she frowned. "It wasn't your fault that I tricked you and then—uh, honked the police horn."

She snorted. "He didn't _fire_ me."

I smiled sourly, allowing a certain about of sarcasm to enter my voice. "Really?" For a brief second, she seemed to appear guilty and shifted as she looked away. I took a deep breath. "Well, I'll let you get back to desk duty, then."

The officer rolled her eyes but reached out to touch the desk as if it were my shoulder, and I paused and looked back at her. "He's at the school," she said, and then fixed me with a chastising look. "Like you should be."

I nodded and smiled at her. "I'll make sure to tell him about the warm welcome you gave me."

I could see her eye twitch from here. She sighed heavily and balled her hand into a fist, dragging it off the desk. "Listen, I'm a cop."

My eyebrows rocketed but before I could comment she pressed on.

"I'm not a receptionist. I should be at that scene. It's my job. But because of you, I'm stuck answering phone calls about noisy dogs and cars parked in no-parking zones."

My hand slid from the door handle and I took a step toward her. "What do you mean _at that scene?_ "

Her face changed and she looked away. "Just get to class, okay?"

"Did something happen?" I moved closer and she shook her head.

"I can't share details about ongoing cases with you."

"Do I need to be worried?"

"Just follow the curfew and do what you're supposed to do, okay? No more late nights."

"But how serious is it?"

"Classes are still on," She said, fixing me with a meaningful expression that I promptly ignored.

"So it's just about the vandalism in the locker room?"

She scrunched her face and stepped back. "Vandalism? What vandalism?"

I froze. Suspicion crept into her face as I frantically tried to form an excuse in my mind. My nose twitched as I sniffed and blinked. "Just a guess."

She narrowed her eyes. "That's a pretty specific guess."

I shrugged a shoulder. "You're right. I should really start hedging my bets."

She opened her mouth, but before she could continue, the phone rang. We both looked down at it, and she seemed caught between focusing on me and actually answering the phone.

It rang again. I kept my face blank as I looked between her and the phone, the comedy of the situation making my mouth twitch. Boy, she's in a tough position. I did my best not to smirk as I said, "It could be an emergency."

She scowled and I pressed my lips together. It rang again, and before it could cut off she snatched the receiver up. As soon as she started to speak into it, I mouthed something about needing to get to school and gestured at the door.

She pointed at me and bared her teeth in warning, but I tapped my imaginary watch and shrugged apologetically. For as long as she was able, she followed me, right up until I slid out the exit and let the door shut behind me.

My guilty conscience never steers me right. I had taken time out of my morning to come down to the station so I could tell the Sheriff that the officer who'd driven me to the Hale house wasn't to blame for my being there. I knew it would likely be a fruitless venture, but every time I thought of how Sheriff yelled at her when I honked the horn, I worried that he'd fire her over it. I guess my concern wasn't totally unfounded. She'll probably be riding the desk for a while.

I tried to conjure that same guilt from last night, but after the way she'd treated me, I couldn't seem to find it. I was mature enough to realize that she was probably actually extremely frustrated about the consequences she faced for bringing me to the crime scene. I'm sure she just lived out her own version of a vindictive _I Told You So._ She told me she hated desk duty, and I can imagine that contesting the Sheriff's decision—her _boss_ —would be a huge no-no. In a sense, she's right. She's an officer; not a receptionist. It's essentially like being demoted. It had to be a bitter pill for her to swallow. She couldn't lash out at her boss, or probably even vent to her colleagues, so of course she would lash out at me. After all, it's _my_ fault, isn't it? Even so, it was unprofessional behavior. She's an _officer_. Not a retail clerk. She doesn't get to be snippy with the general public. She's supposed to protect us. Clearly, she's got a lot of growing to do herself.

And now something happened at school? Is that why the station was so barren?

What else could go wrong? It seemed like our luck might've been turning around. For God's sake, we won the game last night! Scott scored a lot of points. Stiles was so excited on his behalf at the end that he couldn't stop jumping up and down. (That was before he found out about Derek's sister—we'll get to that later.) Mom had been overjoyed.

I think Lydia, Jackson and I were the only ones who weren't turning cartwheels. Something inside me kept me from being excited about my brother's newfound lacrosse skills. Honestly, I think I'm just worried. I know that he lost control. Even though he won, even though he scored a ton of points and managed to finally make a name for himself, I know _how_. And that makes all the difference. Because it's not natural, and that's the hard truth of the matter.

It sort of sucks all the positivity out of it for me. I can't be excited for him because I'm so damn _worried_ about what could go wrong. It seems like such a delicate balance! I mean, I _know_ my brother. He's an excitable, asthmatic puppy. And lately he's been getting into a lot of trouble. He keeps going missing. He keeps flipping out and almost attacking the ones closest to him.

Not to mention, he keeps doing impossible things right in front of people! Throwing a lacrosse ball so hard that it _burns_ a hole straight through the netting of a lacrosse stick!? What is this? A superhero movie!? No! He's not Superman! People are going to _realize_ that something is _up!_

Listen, Clark Kent might miraculously get away with wearing Groucho glasses to work and combing his hair to the side, but the reality is, people should realize that Clark Kent and Superman have the _same_ _fucking face._ And Scott needs to take note. He can't go around using his werewolf powers and expect people not to notice.

He needs to be more careful. How long before he totally loses control and hurts someone? How long before someone pulls their head out of their ass and realizes: No, wait just a minute… A human shouldn't be able to dent that metal! Something is up!

My brother has all the best intentions, I know. But control is such a fleeting concept for him, and I have no idea how to help him resist it. I just don't know what to do.

Still, as of now, no matter how reckless and stupid my brother is behaving, I should try and concentrate on school. My grades can't slip. My brother might be able to get away with a shitty report card, but brains are all I've got going for me. I've got a reputation to uphold.

So, as I resolve to take this situation one moment at a time, I open the door of the school. I had noticed quite a few police cars outside, but I didn't see anything suggesting why.

It was tough to stick to my hastily made plan. Focus on one thing at a time. Right now, that one thing was getting to class before the bell rang. It was early enough that this task should be a breeze. There walk back to school only took like, fifteen minutes. Which still leaves nearly a half an hour before class. After that, I'll set another task. And so on, and so forth.

Apparently the universe decided nothing in my life could be easy. I'd barely ascended the steps to the second story before Stiles skidded into my path.

"Where have you been!?" He breathlessly exclaimed, and I sighed and rolled my eyes to the ceiling.

"Why do you hate me?"

"What?" He said, scrunching his face. "I don't hate you, we just have a situation—"

"I was talking to God," I woefully interrupted, causing Stiles to clamp his mouth shut and pause to look me over with a slightly disturbed furrow of his brow. "What is it now?"

He shook his head as if to erase the last ten seconds. "Scott is _freaking_ out; you have to help me calm him down!"

"I'm gone for half an hour—" I started, and he waved me off and practically dragged me down a different hall. "My locker isn't this way!"

"No, I know—listen, it'll be easier to just show you."

"Show me what?" I wanted to know, as he suddenly rearranged us so that he was behind me and shoving me into a hall. Scott was down towards the end, frantically turning people around. He panted heavily and his movements were fast and panicked, like he was a junkie desperate for a fix. "What the fuck?" I stepped away from Stiles, and in a change of pace, I started to hurry willingly down the hall.

"I _told_ you! Allison is missing."

"What?" I stopped and turned to frown at him, but he only shrugged at me. Without thinking, I blurted, "Where is she?"

Stiles raised his eyebrows at me and shook his head. " _Missing_ , Audrey. She's gone! As in _I don't know_ where she's at!"

"As in, she's lost?" I repeated, still not comprehending.

Stiles threw his hands up, "Oh, my god—"

"Is that why your dad is here?" I suddenly gasped, and then took Stiles by the shoulders. "Is she actually missing?"

"Well she's not _missing_ —"

"Oh," I paused. "Then where is she?"

"I don't know—" Stiles was visibly frustrated at this point, waving his hands spastically as he struggled to explain. "Look, she's not _officially_ missing, we just haven't seen her yet today! We don't know where she's at!"

"So she _is_ lost?"

"No!" He exclaimed, and then hesitated. "Maybe?"

I tangled my hands into my hair, frustrated, and he shrugged violently.

"I don't know! We can't find her!"

"Did you try calling her?"

"No!"

"Well!" I stomped a foot and he suddenly snorted in amusement, shrugging helplessly at me again.

"I don't know!" He laughed, and I sighed with an exasperated smirk.

"Well let's go find her," I said, turning around to look at Scott. If anything, Scott's blind panic had only intensified.

He was wandering through the hall like a psycho, with his lacrosse stick jutting out of his book bag as he seemed to grab every girl with dark hair by the arm and wrench her around, only to find that it's not Allison.

"Scott!" I called, but he didn't hear me. I started down the hall, ready to grab him and give him a sharp slap if I needed to, but Scott seemed to finally snap. As I hurried toward him, Scott's anger and panic boiled over and he suddenly punched a locker so hard that it literally _crumpled_.

My jaw dropped. My eyes saw what was happening, but my brain couldn't seem to make sense of it. (Read with heavy dose of sarcasm) It _looked_ like Scott just punched a locker so hard that it caved inwardly and popped its hinges off. But that didn't seem right! I _knew_ that couldn't be _right!_ Because, _holy shit_ , there are _people_ in this hall! Average Joes who watch shitty sitcoms and whose biggest problem is studying for their algebra test! People who are normal! People who have _eyes_ that _work_ , and are capable of witnessing my brother going full on Hulk!

Before I knew it, I was at Scott's side, with Stiles lingering nervously behind me. Scott seemed shocked at his own actions, disbelieving but still caught in his panic. " _Scott!"_ I squawked, my elbow locked as I held a hand out and gestured wildly to the damage he had just inflicted. "Oh my god! _Bad_ dog! Bad, bad dog!"

He wasn't amused. As if I wasn't even there, he backed away from the locker with his hands up and retreated down the hall before I could chase after him. People that paused to see what was going on were watching me strangely, and I cleared my throat and shifted, looking up and down the hall for Stiles.

Apparently Stiles had just _disappeared_. Likely in pursuit of his BFF. So, of course, there I was, standing in front of this smashed locker, trying to figure out what the fuck to do about it, debating whether to follow Scott or hold onto hope that this tantrum of his would be enough to scare him off damaging more property, when Jackson popped up beside me.

I jumped about six feet into the air and scrambled back with my hands up in some Bruce-Lee-wannabe position, and for once in his life, Jackson looked speechless.

He fumed at me, and at his locker, and I think I saw steam coming out of his ears and nose as he gawked at the crumpled metal, periodically whipping a glare over to me in an unvocalized accusation.

"Jackson," I said, my voice tight and uncharacteristically high. He seemed enraged at how casual I was, and before he could get a word in edgewise, I blurted, "You haven't seen Allison, have you?"

"My locker!" He finally erupted. "Who did this? Did you see what _asswipe_ did this!?"

"Well maybe it was me," I tried, and Jackson couldn't resist the opportunity to melt his rage into a dry criticism as he fixed me with an unimpressed glare.

" _Seriously._ "

I shrugged my shoulders, my hands out. "Maybe it was karma."

He geared up to unleash what was probably a very impressive string of curse words, but Stiles suddenly reappeared and joined my side, momentarily distracting him.

"Wow! Subtle, Jackson. You know, if you forgot your combination, all you had to do was go to the janitors. They keep keys to all the lockers—"

"If you want to live, you'll shut your mouth," Jackson hissed, and I think I saw some more steam coming from his nose as he reached out and tried to fix his locker. He barely managed to touch it, and the door popped off with a metallic shriek as he gripped it in his hands, his knuckles turning white. He slid his narrowed eyes at me from the side.

I cleared my throat and shook my head. "I keep a Snickers in my bag for just such an occasion." I began to rifle through my bag, but Jackson looked like he was ready to clobber me in the head with the broken locker, and Stiles decided now would be a good time to pull back. He guided me down the hall, and once we were a safe distance from Jackson, I saw my brother. Standing there. With a dopey ass grin on his face. Like nothing happened. Like he was ready to burst into song.

I couldn't keep the scowl off my face as I shrugged Stiles' hands from my shoulders, somewhat angry with him, too. "Glad to see your mania has cleared up for the day, you _crazy_ bitch!"

He blinked in surprise and in another abrupt shift of mood, guilt clouded his features and he gave me those insufferable puppy eyes. "Audrey, I'm sorry—"

Which told me he knew why I was angry. Because he does reckless, irresponsible things, and he barely even acknowledges the danger of it, which means _I'm_ the sibling left to point out the idiocy. He wants to make _me_ the bad guy? He really wants to make _me_ that person? The one who has to point out the obvious? My hands were up as I tensed with disgust and shook my head. "I can't," I said, vehemently continuing to shake my head as I pushed them both away. Stiles seemed surprised and exasperated that I was also pushing _him_ away, but it didn't faze me as I backed up. "Nope. I can't today."

I started to walk away when the locker flashed back through my mind. Just as simply as I had turned my back, I swiveled around and marched between them with my hand still up, this time my finger pointing at Scott's face. "No, you know what? I'm not—I changed my mind. Let's do this."

He shot Stiles a look that screamed for help, but I made sure to get between them as I gestured back to Jackson's broken locker.

"What were you _thinking?"_ I hissed, and he seemed ready to defend himself. He looked so guilty and sheepish that it felt like one of those _he'll punish himself enough for both of us_ scenarios, but I was angry, so I didn't care. "I mean, do I _really_ even need to say anything? No—you know what—I don't, let's review. Look up there, Scott. Look at the cameras." I had him by the shoulders and gave them a mockingly cheerful wave. "Hi! Hello! Bet you've seen quite the show today! Wow!" I craned my neck back at Scott, an insincere smile scrunching my nose. " _Wow!"_

"Okay," Stiles interjected, as if I was going too hard on him.

I ignored him. "How 'bout that?" I continued, and Scott looked at the floor like a kicked puppy. As if he was scolding himself on top of what I was saying. "Pretty neat, huh? I bet they saw the whole fuckin' thing, what do you think?"

And for added measure, I smacked the back of his head.

"Audrey!" Stiles finally exclaimed, and I whirled around to snap at him.

 _"What!?"_

He was looking at me with such a sober, serious expression, I hesitated and frowned. Scott looked chastised but knowing, as if dreading what Stiles was about to tell me. Like it was something really bad. So bad, he couldn't even look at me.

My anger was slowly, hesitantly, replaced with concern. "What?" I asked my brother, and he sighed.

Then he told me about his dream. And about the bus. And about the very real possibility that what started out as a freak-mutation could be quickly evolving into a homicidal split personality; his very own Mr. Hyde. And that we have no real way of knowing for sure, but that it _felt_ real. That Scott is terrified out of his _mind_ that he might have been the one to cause the scene in the bus, and that his crush could be the victim.

Humor was my defense mechanism. Similar to how Stiles' defense mechanism is sarcasm, mine is outlandish, typically inappropriate humor. So when he got to the part about throwing the bus seat at her, I burst into laughter.

Scott looked ready to cry. Stiles was looking at me like my head was spinning and I was speaking in tongues, but I couldn't stop. It was reflex.

I coughed and cleared my throat, rolling my lips into my mouth. "Uhm," I cleared my throat again and shook my head, the occasional snort still escaping me every now and then. "So—um… I mean, I don't remember you getting up in the middle of the night or anything."

Stiles and Scott simultaneously perked up. "That's right!" Stiles optimistically encouraged. And Stiles isn't an optimist, so it definitely had that air of _'we're lying to ourselves'_ about it. "You were there last night! You two live together! Did he leave? Do you remember hearing him leave the house? Climbing out the window?"

I raised my eyebrow and thought back. "Squeezing through the doggy door?" Neither of them was amused at my immature quip, so I rolled my eyes and answered seriously. "Actually now that you mention it, I think I did hear him talking to someone."

Scott and Stiles had the identical reaction of excitement as they slapped each other's arm. Stiles turned to me. "That's great! Who?"

"All I really heard was a lot of screaming and cussing," I shrugged. Scott looked at Stiles as I continued. "Honestly, I just ignore him when he gets like that."

Stiles shifted and cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, that was me."

"You were screaming and cussing in his room last night?" I teasingly asked, and Stiles tilted his head with a wince.

"Not—exactly…" He glanced at my brother, who was also sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. "We were playing a video game and using the headphones. It was this multiplayer—"

"Yep, didn't care last night, don't care now." I pursed my lips mockingly and nodded as Stiles and Scott sighed and pretended not to be embarrassed. "Aside from that he didn't come out of his room. I think we heard some growling when we threw food in at one point but—wait, that was me…"

Scott rolled his eyes and I smirked.

"Honestly, I couldn't hear much over the television."

"The television." Stiles blandly parroted.

Self consciously, I shifted and shrugged a shoulder. "I like to watch Through the Wormhole before bed. Morgan Freeman's voice puts me to sleep better than a lullaby. He could start reading out of a satanic bible, and it would still calm me down."

Stiles' eyes narrowed as if he had a thought and was suddenly suspicious of me. I looked at Scott in question, but he seemed just as uncertain as I was, and he just watched us while shifting in his misery.

"…What?" I asked slowly. "Why are you looking at me like you think I might have killed someone?" Scott flinched and I gasped and my hands flew to my mouth. "Shit! Too soon! I'm sorry, I literally forgot."

Scott sighed and hung his head and I kicked myself as I went to hug him, momentarily forgetting the intense shade Stiles had just thrown me.

"I'm the worst sister in the history of siblings," I mumbled into his shoulder, and Scott snorted.

"What about Cain?"

Ah. The biblical brother who murdered his brother over jealousy. I shook my head. "Worse than him."

Scott finally lifted his hands to hug me back. "Yeah," He unexpectedly agreed, and I immediately smacked his shoulder and struggled to pull away as he squeezed me tightly.

Stiles suddenly wrapped his arms around us. "Me too, guys!"

"Ugh," I grunted, and Scott laughed and instantly started to envelope Stiles into our hug. I squirmed and tried to duck out, but they apparently decided to tag team me and they sandwiched me between them. "No!" I wailed. "This is just like when we were little! You guys, please, you're unraveling years of therapy—"

They picked me up and I squealed and kicked as they started to shake me and soon we were shouting over each other. A teacher must have started moving our way, because they abruptly dropped me and then scattered to the wind, leaving me standing there in the aftermath of their sudden attack of affection. I chased after my brother and slapped his shoulder when I caught up.

"So! Did you find Allison?"

He quickly nodded. "She's fine. Totally fine."

I sighed and smiled, though it was a bit tired, and shrugged at him. "See? You were freaking out over nothing. What about the bus?"

He looked sick to his stomach every time it was mentioned. I pursed my lips at him.

"It's true, then?"

He nodded. I sighed and looked at my feet as we continued to our locker. Since it was a rare moment for us to be alone in the school together, I took the time to be serious as I quietly suggested, "Scott, there's no way it was you."

He shook his head. "It felt so real, Audrey."

"I've had tons of vivid dreams. One time I dreamt that I met Dan Howell and we—what?"

"Who's Dan Howell?" Scott asked, frowning at me dumbly. Instinctively, I snorted at him. Then I realized he was being serious.

My jaw dropped. "Scott!"

He just threw me a defensive shrug. "What?! I—I'm sorry! I've never heard of him, is he someone I should know?"

I scoffed and shook my head at him incredulously. "I mean, do you even know me at all? Are you sure you're my brother? How could you not know who Dan Howell is? I'm in love with him."

Scott straightened. "Do I know him?" I gawked at him. Scott looked around as we stopped in front of our lockers. "Did we pass him? Does he go here? Is he a friend of Danny? Dan—wait—is it Danny? His last name is howl—is this some sort of sick joke about my—" He glance around and then leaned in to whisper. "Audrey, if this is a joke about, Danny, and werewolves, it's not working at all."

Speaking of his head, I smacked the side of his and effectively drew his shameful rant to a close. He reared back in surprise and whined as he rubbed at where I'd struck him.

"Hey!" He pouted. "That one I didn't deserve."

"Beg to differ," I unapologetically exclaimed, looking him over with distaste. "I swear to god, you are _so_ …"

Scott threw his hands up. "What!?"

I shook my head and scoffed as I started to open my locker. "I'm trying really hard not to blow this out of proportion. It's just, you obviously don't pay attention to me. I can't believe you don't know who Dan Howell is. He's seriously been my favorite person for months now. I'm obsessed with his videos."

Recognition passed through his eyes, and Scott threw his head back and groaned slowly. "Ohhhhh," He realized. "That British dude you watch on YouTube!"

I stared at him.

"What?" He asked, self-consciously. Without blinking, I looked away, feeling oddly disappointed and unsettled.

"You know that feeling when you love something so much that when you try and explain it to someone else it sounds completely lame and suddenly you hate yourself?"

Scott, biting back his amusement, bit his lip and tilted his head at his locker as he visibly restrained himself from saying something that was surely insulting. "It doesn't sound lame."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, shut up."

"I said it _didn't_ sound boring!"

My jaw dropped as I turned to gawk at him. "No you didn't!"

"Audrey, I'm not fighting with you about this."

My eyes narrowed and I jabbed a finger in his chest. "Dan Howell is not boring."

He put his hand up and stepped away. "Whatever you say."

"Stop it!"

"I'm agreeing with you!"

"You're mocking me!"

"Stop being such a girl," He sneered, though genuine amusement was pulling at the corners of his eyes.

I bristled more. "You're _deplorable_."

"Thank you," He grinned, apparently oblivious to what that word meant. I guess it does rhyme with adorable.

I snorted and raised an eyebrow at him. "You're welcome." The way I said it was so dry, Scott frowned to himself and visibly reflected on the conversation as we started down the hall.

Somewhere along the trek to my first class, Scott had brought up the subject of dinner. We were in the midst of arguing over whether or not we should finish the leftovers from Jerry's when Stiles fell into step next to my brother.

"So?" He casually interrupted, as if he had never left the conversation.

Scott and I exchanged a confused glance. Scott turned to him with a frown. "What?"

Stiles seemed impatient as he waved his hands. "What's the verdict?"

Scott looked at me as if I could translate. I shrugged and shook my head. "Don't look at me! He's your friend!"

"Hey," Stiles loudly pouted, like he was insulted or something.

"Oh, _now_ you want to be my friend."

"Audrey." Stiles placed his hand to his chest. "I thought what we had was special!"

Unimpressed, I scrunched my eyebrows at him. Scott hid a smile by ducking his head, and I pretended not to be amused as I looked back at my brother. Before I could speak, Stiles stopped in the hallway.

When I turned to look at him, I found him staring at me with what looked like a genuinely hurt and upset expression. Without cracking so much as a smirk, he screwed his face up as he cried, "Is it because I'm _fat?!"_

I couldn't help but burst into laughter while people in the hall looked at the three of us like we were freaks as they passed us. Stiles stood with his hands at his side, panting dramatically like a character from a soap opera, and I pressed my hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter as he continued.

"Because you can't be friends with a fatty!" He pretended to wipe a tear away. "Screw you, McCall!"

"Yeah, Scott!" I suddenly interjected, slapping my brother's shoulder, and he jerked away with his jaw dropped.

"Ow!"

"That's what my _heart_ said when you rejected me!" Stiles femininely exclaimed, pressing his fingers to his chest again. " _Ow!_ "

We held our expressions for as long as we could. Stiles, glaring at Scott impetuously. Scott, rearing back with a shocked and disturbed expression, and me just struggling not to laugh.

Scott cracked first. He snorted, curling in on himself to try and hide his laughter, and I tucked to the side to bury my face in my shoulder to hide my snort. Stiles shook his head behind us.

"Seriously, what's wrong with us?" He laughed, and Scott shrugged as he shook his head.

"So much." I wiped at my eye and snorted again as I replayed Stiles' expression when he cried _Ow._

"But really, what are you going to do about the bus?"

And all the amusement and happiness was extinguished, like a candle flame when a lid is closed over the top of it. Scott and I sighed in unison.

Before either of us could remark, the bell signaling the minute warning rang. I looked at Scott. The moment of sobriety lingered, as I thought back to our argument we had. I really lost it when he dented that locker. It makes me _crazy_ when he does shit like that… It's going to be hard—this werewolf thing? Not just for him, but for me, because I'm going to have to learn to let him make his own mistakes. I'm always ready to jump in and scream about how much of a dumb ass he is, but maybe that isn't what he needs.

He looks so scared, honestly. I know him like the back of my hand, so I know that guilt ridden expression is genuine, but I also know it's burying a much deeper sensation of unease. "You're not crazy," I said, and it visibly struck a chord with him. Scott flinched and I knew I hit the nail on the head.

He looked at me with wide, vulnerable eyes, and then quickly looked away. "I know," He mumbled.

"Yeah dude, you're definitely not crazy," Stiles helpfully supported. He nodded his head and I nodded too. "You're just a werewolf."

We awkwardly paused as the irony of that statement sank it, and Stiles looked down with his lips pursed into a frown.

"That was too far, wasn't it?" He suddenly asked, and I briskly nodded. He winced at himself. "I always take it too far."

I sighed and grabbed both their shoulders as they tried not to let the reality of our completely insane situation mess with their minds too much. "I have to go take a quiz," I said, and fixed each of them with what I hoped was a reprimanding look. "And you two have to go to Chemistry."

Stiles let his head fall back in a pout and Scott said, "I don't know how I'm going to focus. Not after…"

"It's nothing," I stubbornly persisted, squeezing his shoulder. He looked at me knowingly, and I pretended not to see it. "You're fine. This is nothing. You'll see."

"Right," He rolled his eyes and Stiles shrugged his shoulder.

"Dude, what's the worst that could happen?"

Scott and I both stiffened and Stiles winced again.

"Yep, I heard it," He nodded, and I shook my head as I stepped away.

"Seriously?" I asked, and he continued to look regretful. "Seriously."

"Yeah."

* * *

I sat in my first period class, pouring over my book like a junkie with a wicked case of jones. People in my class were talking lowly, as if it made it any less obvious that they were trading answers on the homework.

Not that I care. I don't give a crap if you cheat, I'm just freaking out because I haven't made a whole lot of time to study. And have I mentioned my need to pass my classes? I'm already on the verge of failing one. I can't afford a second one.

But I just keep telling myself that I've got this. I looked over some of it last night, and some of it before the game as well. So it's not like I've never studied for the test. I should be fine. I'm sure it's going to be one of those cases where I'm psyching myself out.

"Hey, Audrey, what did you put for the—what are you reading?"

I glanced up at the girl briefly. "I'm trying to study."

"Yeah, but why are you looking at _that_ chapter?"

My eyes froze on the diagram in front of me. Slowly, I looked up at her. "This is the chapter we're having the test over."

Her faze was frozen in a cringe. "No… we aren't on chapter six until next week. This is a test over chapter five."

"Chapter five," I repeated, emotionlessly.

She cracked a smile and breathed a laugh, apparently trying to lighten the mood. "Yeah, that's right. Well—that's okay, though, I mean, you're just more prepared than the rest of us."

I blinked at her and felt the pencil in my hand snap. She didn't notice.

"I'm jealous," she joked, and I just barely kept myself from freaking out.

"I thought we were skipping chapter five!"

Her face melted into that of understanding and empathy as she winced. "Oh, no," She looked down at the page I was on. "We've been talking about chapter five for a couple of periods now."

I looked down at my book and stared blankly.

"Maybe you should stop studying for other classes in here."

The passive aggressive dig caught me off guard. I looked up at her fake, sugary smile, my eyes wide.

She shrugged at me, nonchalant. "Just a suggestion."

And with that, she turned around. My eyes narrowed and I looked down at my book. This is why I don't have friends in my grade. Everyone in it sucks.

I quickly started flipping through the pages, struggling to find the beginning of the chapter. Maybe I could at least cram a few definitions into my brain before—

"Alright, everyone!" The teacher called from his desk. Apparently he'd finished going through all those pressing e-mails of his. "You know the drill. Notes away, books closed, everything off your desk except a pencil."

I quickly skimmed the page I was on. It wasn't the first page, but it was somewhere in chapter five, so that's something. My lips moved along with the words as the students around me slid their books under their desks and calmly prepared their pencils. Some people asked to borrow pens, some people stood to go to the sharpener.

The teacher snapped at them that they should have done that before class.

"You knew there was a test today," He seethed, and the student threw their hands up, equally as annoyed. "You know, in college you're going to be on your own with this stuff! Professors don't care like I do!"

And that's the comment that I will never understand. I glanced up as he handed the student a pencil, forcing them to thank him as if he had given them something precious.

I had managed to garner maybe half an ounce of the knowledge required for the chapter—not nearly enough to feel prepared—so I began to noisily flip through the pages and skim the highlighted words.

My heart was racing, and panic set in as I realized I hadn't absorbed a single thing I'd looked at.

"Ms. McCall, your book should be closed and under your desk," The teacher said. "Unless you _want_ to fail?"

I ground my teeth together, mentally cursing him up one wall and down the other as I closed the cover and let it plop on the floor loudly.

The teacher stood from his desk. "Is there a problem, Ms. McCall?"

My eye twitched. "It slipped."

"Really." He seemed unconvinced. He looked me over as if considering whether it was worth it to give me a dention, and before he could say anything, a student gasped.

The class turned to look at her. It was the same girl who had said something to me about studying the wrong chapter, but her eyes were trained on the windows. "Oh my god! There's a body!"

Sure enough, the paramedics were wheeling a gurney towards the ambulance outside.

The whole class was out of their seats and rushing to the windows before the teacher could so much as breathe. He tried to tell everyone to sit back down, but we all knew we would ignore him. I lingered in my seat, looking down at the pencil I had snapped in half as the end with the tip rolled to the floor.

It broke off, officially making the pencil useless. Great.

"Whoa, is he dead?"

I didn't want to look. The truth is, I was scared. Because there's a chance—no matter how firmly I'm denying it—there's the _slightest_ chance that my _brother_ did that. Whatever it is, if there's a dead body, or an injured body—it doesn't matter. There's a chance that he was somehow involved. And that terrifies me.

Against my better judgment, I stood from my desk and went to peek over people's shoulders. Some of them had their phones out. I snarled my nose in distaste as these vultures used the tragedy—someone's worst day of their life—as an excuse to post something on their social media. They videotaped the body as it came into view, narrating what they saw as it happened.

Suddenly, the body jerked upright with a loud scream and everyone jumped back about a foot. One student even fell over a desk. I grasped at my chest and peeked reluctantly to see what happened.

The man was alive. He was covered in blood and shocked out of his mind, but he was alive. That's good… right?

Of course. That's good.

The whole class was in a slight uproar. Everyone was talking about what they saw—laughing and trying to make light of the situation. Blowing the whole thing out of proportion, trying to explain how scared they were. How sorry they felt for the man, for the man's family. Laughing at the kid who had fallen over the chair in his fright.

"All right, everyone," The teacher tried to regain control of the situation. "Back to your seats."

It took about five minutes, but finally, everyone was in their seats again. They couldn't stop talking, but they were seated, and that's something.

"Let this be a lesson to you all," He said, apparently finding this the perfect opportunity to depart some sage wisdom with us. This should be good.

"What?" One smart kid snorted. "Don't become a bus driver when I grow up? Thanks, Mr. Jay, but I already knew that."

As some kids laughed, the teacher just glared at him. "That's your first warning, Garrett," He said, pointing at him in warning. Some students muttered insults at the teacher under their breath, and he cleared his throat and straightened his tie. "No. What I was going to say is: Tragedies can happen anywhere. Even in our own backyards."

"Or parking lots," Said the girl who had told me about the chapters. Laughter broke out again, and I rolled my eyes.

"Exactly," Mr. Jay agreed, to everyone's surprise. He took a breath. "Now… In light of the—scene—you were all just exposed to… I'm going to do you a favor."

I sat up, hopeful.

He smiled secretively. "For the last five minutes of the test, you may use your book."

The response was mixed. While it was certainly generous of him, and slightly out of character (Mr. Jay is almost as uptight as Mr. Harris), five minutes isn't much time. Still, it's more than I had hoped for. I sighed in relief as he told us to leave our books under our desks until he said it was time.

* * *

Ah, lunch. How I love thee. Let me count the ways.

I was at what I'm now comfortable to refer to as 'the usual table' with my brother and Stiles. School had been in session for quite the little stretch now, and except for the one day that chili was served and there was a completely grotesque mess left across the table, we sat here every day.

I had picked out the most appetizing food available, which also happens to be—in my opinion—the freshest. It's strange because I eat a lot, but since I'm a vegetarian it cuts back on the junk that I intake on a regular basis.

For example: I've tried the fries here. They're gross. Even the chips they have for sale are mediocre at best. I mean, Baked chips? Come on. They're Pringles. Get some Kettle cooked chips, or some pita chips. Then we'll talk.

My meat-free-philosophy rules out the majority of the main dishes that are served. Which basically leaves cheese pizza, which is usually partially uncooked and disgusting, or their fresh fruit cups, their fresh vegetables, and their salad bar.

Today, I've got a salad with everything but the hard-boiled eggs—because I hate hard-boiled eggs—strawberries and half a kiwi, and a parfait for dessert.

"You know what's the worst?" I interrupted their very serious conversation about the bus scene outside. They'd been talking about it basically non-stop since the moment we convened in the lunch line. They looked at me, mouths hanging open midsentence. "When you know the answer on the test and then you read on and it says, 'Explain.'" I gave an exaggerated eye roll. "It's just like, Yeah… no thanks. What is this, a test?"

Stiles stared at me blandly and Scott blinked. "Okay," My brother said, and I huffed at their lack of enthusiasm.

"So anyways," Stiles turned back to Scott. "What makes you so sure that Derek even has all the answers?"

"Wh—heyyy," I perked up, placing my hand between them to catch their attention. Stiles looked ready to make a smart comment, but I ignored him. "What's this about Sugar Daddy Derek?"

Scott recoiled and Stiles choked on nothing.

" _What_ did you call him?"

I looked up for a second. "It's his nickname I gave him."

" _Why?"_ My brother sputtered.

I puffed my lips and drew in a breath, looking up again. "Well, because he's your sire, and that sounds like sugar daddy. Right?"

The continued to stare blankly at me. "What?"

Impatiently, I sighed at them and rolled my eyes. "Derek bit you, which, according to some werewolf lore I've heard about, makes him your sire."

"Where did you find this?" Stiles wanted to know, and Scott shook his head.

"We don't know for sure that Derek is the one who bit me."

"Oh?" I asked, my eyebrows raised. "You got someone else in mind?"

He hesitated. "Well—no—"

"Sugar Daddy," I concluded, with an air of finality.

"Who is?" Lydia Martin casually asked, as she slid her tray down.

"That's what Stiles asked me to call him," I informed her, choosing to ignore how strange it was that she just sat next to us. Stiles nearly convulsed and immediately knocked his water over in a spastic reaction. Lydia looked at him strangely, her perfectly glossed lips puffed disapprovingly as he laughed awkwardly and shook his head.

"She's kidding."

I made a show of winking at him and brushing my fingers along his hand. "Whatever you say, daddy."

He cringed and shook his hand out, going so far as to wipe it down his shirt. I snickered devilishly at his discomfort and looked at Lydia, who was watching us uncomfortably.

"Seriously, don't call me that," He gave me a genuine look of distress and it only seemed to encourage me.

I pretended to nod like it was some big thing I was playing along with and sat back. "Oh, okay, honey. You're in control." Running my fingers over my collarbone, I reached out with my foot and let the edge of my shoe nudge his ankle, and he literally yelped and fell into the floor he jerked backwards so fast.

I erupted into laughter and even Scott seemed to be smothering a grin as Allison joined his side and smiled cluelessly at us.

"What's going on?"

"They're being disgusting," Lydia informed her, cracking open her cup of yogurt.

"Oh," I pouted at her, tilting my head. "That's so sweet of you to say."

She rolled her eyes and Danny sat across from her. Suddenly, the table was filled with people I didn't recognize, but I paid them no mind as I gasped and freaked out over Danny sitting across from me.

"Danimal!" I cooed, and he grinned at me.

"Hey, Audrey. Are you behaving?"

I scoffed and glanced away, actually embarrassed for a second, though I covered it by overdramatizing my reaction. "No," I bluntly answered, and Lydia laughed.

"I like her," She announced, and I think everyone at the table paused to gawk.

I blinked at Lydia as Stiles slowly slid back into his seat like his entire world shifted and everything he thought he knew was a lie. Fixing Lydia with a sober expression, I channeled my inner Nev Shulman and said, "The lies end _now_."

She tilted her head at me, clearly not understanding the reference, and I snapped my fingers and shook my head.

"So close," I said with mocking regret, and she raised her eyebrows. "We were so close to the beginning of a beautiful friendship. I was rooting for you! We were _all_ rooting for you!"

Lydia perked up and nodded, pointing enthusiastically at me. "Tyra!"

I held my hand up for a high five and her smile immediately dropped as she looked at it with distaste. Her eyes flicked back to me as she resumed picking at her broccoli with her fork and shook her head at me. "No."

I sighed and frowned, awkwardly retracting my hand, and Jackson laughed loudly. I stuck my tongue out at him and Danny told him to shut up. He held his hand out to me as if to give me that high five I was just rejected, and I grabbed it and kissed the top of his knuckles. "Danny, you prince," I cooed, and he laughed and raised an eyebrow at my ridiculousness.

"You're in a good mood," He observed, and I shrugged a shoulder as I stabbed a strawberry to wave it around.

"Don't jinx it."

"This is weird," Stiles said to Scott, as if the rest of us couldn't hear him. He looked at my brother with wide eyes. "This is _weird_ , right?"

"What's weird?" Lydia wanted to know, and Stiles looked at her with his mouth agape. I felt embarrassed for him. It's like, he's obsessed with this girl—yet every time she pays him any degree of attention, he shuts down. It's painful to watch.

"I think he's talking about the fact that we're sitting with them," Danny helpfully supplied and I pointed at him with my fork and touched it to my nose with a wink.

"What does that mean?" Lydia asked, apparently full of questions today. She mimicked touching her nose as Jackson engaged in a bickering match with Stiles. "I've always wondered what that meant." She touched her nose again. "I see people do it all the time."

"It's like, uh, saying spot on." I tapped my nose to demonstrate. "Or, you hit it on the nose. But keep it hush hush. You know and I know, but no one else knows. Wink wink, nudge nudge. That sort of thing."

"Oh," she nodded, her mouth forming a small _O_ of understanding.

I smiled and nodded back and then when I turned away, I realized we just cemented some weird sort of friendship. And I didn't hate it.

"I heard it was an animal attack," Danny was saying. I resurfaced from the strange Twilight Zone interaction I had and planted my feet firmly on the ground to participate in a rational conversation, like a normal human being. With _other_ human beings who aren't my brother or Stiles. For once.

"I heard mountain lion," Jackson added, always trying to one up people.

Unable to resist, I waved my strawberry through the air again. "No, you're both wrong." I almost chickened out when they both turned to me—suddenly overwhelmed with their beauty. Because they _are_ both beautiful. But I swallowed my hesitation, and, unable to swallow my grin along with it, I said, "It was a chupacabra."

Jackson's eyes narrowed as Allison spit her milk out in shock, covering her mouth as she laughed. Danny was chuckling, and even Lydia had a small grin, but my brother had to go and ruin it. "Come on, Audrey," He said, though not unkindly. "This is serious."

Annoyed, I straightened slightly. "A chupacabra is a very dangerous animal, Scott."

Scott gave me a dry look. I knew it was his way of signaling that I was embarrassing him and I should stop, which only annoyed me more. I narrowed my eyes challengingly.

"I saw one, once. Out in the Preserve."

"What are they?" Jackson asked, obviously only pretending to be interested, glancing at Lydia as if to clue her into the opportunity to tease me. Surprisingly, she wasn't as receptive to the idea.

Danny didn't like that. He straightened and came to my defense again. "They're like rabid dog-hybrids."

Jackson looked at his best friend with wide, disapproving eyes. "Why do you know that?"

"Because I'm an interesting person and I watch documentaries. And read."

Jackson scoffed and picked up his bottle of water. "Whatever," He muttered.

"Well, not to step on anyone's _toes_ ," Lydia snootily interrupted, piercing a grape with her fork before looking straight at me. "But chupacabras are an urban legend. They're not real."

I raised an eyebrow and leaned in. "Then explain what happened outside."

"It was probably a mountain lion," She dismissed, reaching over to rub Jackson's arm. "Like Jackson said."

He barely responded to her touch, glancing over at her and giving a slight nod of acknowledgement.

"But a chupacabra makes for a much more interesting story."

"But it's not _real_ ," Jackson snidely noted, and I raised an eyebrow.

"Your point?"

"The point is, someone was actually hurt. _That's_ real. It's not okay to make jokes about it, or stories, or spread rumors about it." Scott sat with his chin up and had his eyes fixed on me like we were little and he was in charge of me while mom was at work.

I sighed and looked back at him with distaste. Sometimes, he can be such a buzz kill. The others and the table became thoughtful and those who had laughed at my joke ducked their heads in shame.

"Whatever, the guy was probably some homeless tweaker who was going to die soon anyways," Jackson rudely dismissed, and this time I really did feel disgusted as I glared at him.

He shrugged at me unapologetically and I scoffed and looked away to focus on eating my lunch.

"Actually, I think I just found out who he really was," Stiles suddenly piped up, and held his phone out to show everyone a report from the local news. Apparently, his name was Garrison Myers, and he remains in critical condition at the hospital.

When it showed the picture of him, I felt the fruit I had eaten threaten to come back up. I recognized his white hair and genuine smile. He'd been the one to drive my brother and I to school back when we lived with our dad. He was always early, which was sort of annoying because we couldn't ever sleep in, but I do remember that on holidays he would bring all the kids on his route themed treats. Like Halloween candy or candy canes for Christmas.

After Scott explained this exact thing to everyone, Lydia requested a change of subject.

"Like, where are we going tomorrow night?" She leaned around me to ask Allison and Scott. I rolled my lips in my mouth to stifle my reaction.

It took a moment for her question to register for my brother. He was still staring at Stiles' screen with a troubled gaze, but I could tell as soon as it did. He stiffened and looked over at her like a deer in headlights, and Allison frowned questioningly at her friend.

I hid a grin by taking a bite of my salad, crunching the lettuce cheerily. _Karma_.

When they didn't immediately respond to her question, Lydia shook her head at Allison with impatience. "You said we were going _out_ tomorrow night? Where?"

"Oh—" Allison exclaimed, obviously hoping to exclude her friend from her date. "I don't know, I mean, we were thinking of what we were going to do…"

Stiles perked up and practically slid to the edge of his seat in anticipation, just _waiting_ to volunteer himself.

"Well, I am _not_ sitting home again and watching _lacrosse_ videos—"

I snorted into my salad and grinned over at Jackson, who sent me a very dirty look as I tried to picture it. And it really was _so_ easy to picture it. Lydia, coming over to Jackson's house dressed to the nines, fully expecting a fabulous, romantic evening filled with valet parking and a candle lit dinner at some posh, reservations-only-restaurant—and Jackson, forcing Lydia to stay in and help him watch his home-taped lacrosse videos of previous games in an attempt to improve. I would never admit this, but Scott and I had actually done the same thing once or twice this summer. Watching videos of old games really are a great way to improve technique.

"So if we _are_ hanging out, we are doing something fun." Lydia spoke like it was almost a threat. One thing was clear: this was not a topic open for discussion. They're going on a double-date tomorrow, and whatever they do, it's got to be coupley.

As Scott quietly worked out the details with Allison, I tuned out. Basically, Scott and Allison reluctantly agreed to a double date with the school's Golden couple, and none of them were happy about it.

Stiles seemed just as miserable over the turn of events as Scott was, I assume because he's jealous of Jackson and worried for his friend—but I don't have that issue. So I turned to Danny and proceeded to engage in venting. "Why do people willingly subject themselves to these kinds of situations?" I muttered, and Danny raised an eyebrow at me. "I mean, it's so much better to be single. While they're busy complaining about where to go on a double-date from hell, I'll be sitting at home watching Dexter on Netflix. And probably eating obscene amounts of pizza. Because I love Dexter, and I love pizza, and there's absolutely nothing complicated about those two things."

Danny smirked. "Please, who do you think you're talking to? You'll probably smoke and cry over your Phandom."

I pressed a hand to my chest and sighed lovingly at him. "Danny, I adore you."

"I still don't know why you like Dan more than Phil," Danny said. He's the only person who's familiar enough with the two Youtubers to engage in debates about them with me. (It may or may not be because I've forced him to watch multiple videos…) "Phil is so much sweeter."

"I can just relate to Dan more, you know?" I said, shrugging a shoulder. "He has existential crises over the smallest things, and he is the dark shadow to Phil's ray of sunshine." I frowned down at the table. "Sort of like me and Scott… oh, God. Here I go. See? Existential crisis."

Danny grinned and rolled his eyes.

"—In fact… I'm a great bowler," My brother was saying, just as I took a drink of water.

Much as Allison had done earlier, I spat my drink out everywhere and choked on my laugh. Jackson looked at me, smug and satisfied for some reason. I barely looked at him as I turned to my brother and continued with my sputtering laughter, and Stiles kicked me under the table.

"Ow!" I said, oblivious. "What was that for?"

He looked at me with wide eyes and I suddenly caught on. I gasped another cough and glanced to the side, where Lydia and Jackson were both watching me with identical looks of disturbance.

"Um…" I tried to think of a way to fix this. "Scott is… Have you guys seen the Big Lebowski?"

Stiles barked a surprised laugh and Lydia tapped her nose.

"Good, you've seen it," I quickly noted, pointing at Lydia. Jackson looked at Lydia like she'd betrayed him somehow by having a good taste in movies. She shrugged as I continued to talk. "So Scott is like, uh, Donny. You know, underappreciated, a little stupid, and usually laughed at, but secretly the most entertaining one there."

At everyone's blank stares, I just continued nodding like it wasn't actually an embarrassing moment for me. This is why I keep to myself. No one gets me. Even Danny was leaving me hang for this one, as he raised an eyebrow at me and chewed on a piece of broccoli.

"Thanks," Scott dryly commented, and I pressed my lips together to hide my grin, winking at him. He rolled his eyes.

"Shut the fuck up, Donny," Lydia quipped, in a rare moment of hilarity, and I nearly fell off my seat laughing. Even Stiles smacked the table from his laughter, and suddenly I could see why he liked her so much. Scott was grinning too, so don't get the wrong idea and think that it was actually taking things too far.

I wiped my eyes and settled back into my seat as the bell rang, reaching over to pat Lydia's shoulder. She didn't even recoil. What an interesting note to end on.


	10. Chapter 9

_**Honestly, this fic is just really fun to write, you guys. I'm writing it mostly for me, but I love sharing my work with all of you. Audrey is just the most FUN character to write about. I'm trying to make her a relatable, typical, run of the mill, all-American teen. Because that's sort of the theme of this fic? Like really ordinary, normal kids thrown into extraordinary circumstances, and coping with it, and all that jazz.**_

 ** _Oh, and I'll let you in on a secret... I'm not totally sure of how the pairing is going to go. I sort of like the idea of her having a thing for Stiles, but him not really returning the feelings. I've not done a story with unrequited love just yet... This could be the one. Thoughts? Please let me know what you think of it so far before you go! :) And thank you to those who have followed/favorited/reviewed!_**

* * *

Scott and Stiles walked slightly ahead of me, Stiles being the farthest away as we descended the steps after lunch. I've been keeping pretty quiet for the past few minutes as the other two freaked out over everything that transpired at lunch. Me? I was trying to recall how Jackson had treated Danny, and inwardly scolding myself for being an unobservant shit. I barely even paid attention to whether it seemed hard for Danny to be around Jackson and Lydia while they spoke about the double date. I'm such a horrible friend...

"You don't just _hang out_ with hot chicks, okay?" Stiles exclaimed, as if it was the worst thing in the world. "It's like death!"

I rolled my eyes and my brother dramatically whined, "How is this even happening? I either killed a guy or—didn't…"

"Oh," I perked up, patting his shoulder. He looked at me and I nodded approvingly. "Now _there's_ something to be worried about."

Scott looked at me strangely and Stiles must not have been listening at all, because he said, "I don't think Danny even likes me very much."

I snorted—which of course he heard _that_ —and quickly covered my mouth with my hand.

Stiles reached around Scott to yank the strap of my backpack. I yelped and almost lost my balance, and he didn't even apologize as he said, "What's the deal? You're friends with him—how come he looks at me like—"

"You're the most irritating person on the planet?" I finished, roughly readjusting my backpack, and Stiles' jaw dropped along with his hand.

"I was going to say like I talk too much!"

I snorted and then covered my mouth again, and Stiles pouted and started to drag his feet a little as he walked. "He thinks I'm annoying?"

"Nooo," I said, in that completely unconvincing patronizing tone. He gave me a dirty look and I tried to reconcile. "Danny doesn't hate you."

"How do you know? Has he talked about me? Is it because I'm ugly?"

"Jesus," I touched his shoulder and gave him a wide-eyed look that told him to calm down. "Dial the desperate back a few notches, _please_."

He scoffed and shook my hand off. "Desperate!"

"You're being such a chick!"

"What!" He exclaimed, reaching out to smack Scott's shoulder. "Scott!"

My brother turned, looking mildly unconcerned as he nodded. "You're kind of being too sensitive about this."

"Well—but I'm serious… why doesn't he like me?"

I smirked and looked Stiles over. "Why do you care so much? Something to tell us, Stilinski?"

He scoffed and glanced away. Never one to be made uncomfortable with these sort of questions, he tried to one up me, his hands on his hips. "What if there was?"

I shared a look of skepticism with Scott. "There's not," We chorused, and Stiles threw his hands up.

"There could be!"

"Listen, we already know," I said, as I fell into step with Scott.

"Know what?" Stiles asked from behind us.

"We already know that you're a virgin."

Stiles audibly choked behind us, and then quickly covered it with a laugh. My brother frowned at me and I winked, shrugging an unapologetic shoulder.

"Ignore her—"

"Vir—oh, okay. I get it. You're just trying to provoke me."

I looked back at him and touched the side of my nose, and Stiles finally fell back into step on the other side of my brother.

"Why does she keep doing that nose thing?"

"She thinks she's a secret agent."

"I thought it was a baseball thing," Stiles frowned, and I waved my hand between them.

"Hello! Right here. It's an old Hollywood thing."

They both looked at me, confused. I shrugged.

"I like movies," I dismissed. They seemed to shake it off as Scott finally set the conversation back on track.

"I have to get to work," He sighed, and I hopped up enthusiastically.

"Can I come?"

Scott raised his eyebrows at me, and even Stiles looked a touch surprised. I tried not to read too much into what that could mean (I'm lazy, okay? It means I'm lazy because I never volunteer to work.) and focused on Scott's face. He looked me over hesitantly. "I don't know, I'm already late. Deaton might be annoyed if I bring you without letting him know first."

"He would be _annoyed_ to have another worker?" I asked, unconvinced.

"Well, he'll have to pay you."

I tilted my head, my lips pursed. "True."

"I still think it's really weird that Deaton just lets you put in a shift whenever you feel like it," Stiles said with a thoughtful frown. I shrugged.

"The truth is, he doesn't actually need me to work there. It's more like he's doing _me_ the favor when I take a shift."

"Also, he might not be able to spare the money," my brother noted, walking backwards as he spoke.

I sighed. "Neither can I! I need money! I'm a broke bitch! I have expensive tastes, brother. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm pretty high-maintenance. Momma needs cash."

He rolled his eyes and Stiles cringed. "Okay, if you promise never to say that _ever_ again, you can come."

I grinned and grabbed his collar to pull him down and kiss the top of his head. "Deal!"

* * *

"Your bike is gonna be stolen if you leave it out here like that."

Scott didn't even pretend to acknowledge me, taking off at a run towards the front doors. I turned to watch him go, throwing my hands up.

"Hey!" I called. "I hate sprinting! I'm more of a light jog kind of... You go—" he was too far to hear me at this point. I dropped my arms and sighed. "I'll catch up."

I turned back to his bike and tried to think of what to do with it. There was a bike rack that was just around the corner, but I didn't have a lock on me, so it was probably an equally pointless venture. And if a thief came along, it would be easy pickings. So… I turned to the hedges.

Should I?

I glanced around. The street wasn't busy, but it wasn't dead, either. There were plenty of people milling about. Plenty of potential _thieves_. With a reluctant sigh, I went to grab the handlebars of the bike and pushed it along the pavement. The chain clicked and I was careful to keep the pedals clear of my ankles as I pushed it along, throwing another glance over my shoulder when I reached the hedges.

With a silent prayer to whoever was listening, I shoved the bike in between the hedges. Some of the soil kicked up, and the spoke of the wheel got caught on some roots. Then a branch scraped the side of my leg—that's what I get for wearing shorts—see? This is too much work. Screw Scott! He should've thought ahead! Everyone knows you need a bike lock when you have a bike!

"Should I ask?"

I jumped and whirled around with my fist held out in front of me, nearly punching the Sheriff in the arm. As soon as I saw it was him, I pulled back at the last second and switched it into an awkward pat. It was a poorly disguised cover, and he was far from convinced as he fixed me with a disapproving glare.

The sunglasses on his face hid his eyes, but I just knew they'd be crinkled and squinted if I could see them. "Heyyy, there—bud—" I tried, wincing at my own phrase. Even as the Sheriff's eyebrows rose at my greeting, I closed my eyes and shook my head. "That was inappropriate to say. Please don't arrest me," I abruptly pulled my hand back, my fingers splayed like I touched something gross.

"If I arrested kids every time they said something strange, my son would be serving three life sentences at the state penitentiary by now."

I raised my eyebrows and nodded sarcastically. "Good, I'll be sure to tell him you said so."

Unconcerned, he pulled his lips up at the side smartly and nodded once, towards the bike. "What are you going for there?"

"Where?" I asked, playing dumb.

Sheriff was not amused. "There. In the hedges, where you've apparently decided to do some hedge trimming."

"Oh, that?" I scoffed and pointed at the bike, shaking my head. "That's just a precaution."

"In case the bike rack was too full?" He asked, and I glanced over at the totally unoccupied bike rack behind him. He probably already knew that.

I opened my mouth and hesitated. "Okay… fine. It's so it isn't stolen."

"You heard of a bike lock?"

I nodded, annoyed. "I have, as a matter of fact. I've heard of those. Do you know where I could get one?"

His grip on the leash wrapped around his fingers tightened, and I glanced nervously down at a dog I hadn't really noticed at his side. It looked young. Healthy. Like it could do some serious damage if Sheriff got too annoyed with me.

"Audrey, just move the bike out of there."

"Can't do that, sir," I shook my head.

"Why the hell not?" He snapped.

"Because I don't have a lock."

"So get one!"

"I don't have time!"

"Audrey!"

"Look, who is it hurting?"

"Me, because I know it's there," The Sheriff growled and I tried to play it down by laughing and shaking my head with a shrug.

"Listen, I'm hurting because I know the Black Eyed Peas used to be something before Fergie came along and ruined it—but you don't hear me complaining!"

Sheriff sighed loudly and pinched his nose, visibly calming himself. "Forget it."

I smirked triumphantly and waved my hand. "Forgotten."

He looked at me, and I'm pretty sure I could feel the resentment rolling off him. "I heard you were looking for me this morning?"

I rolled my eyes up and nodded. "I was."

An awkward silence stretched between us as he stared at me, waiting. Expectant.

"Audrey, my patience is seriously wearing right now, so—"

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I'm just cranky this afternoon, you know what I mean? I didn't get my usual nap because for some reason I decided to volunteer to work." I shuddered and shook my head. "I'm like a toddler. I need my snacks and naps. If I don't get them, well…" I gestured between us. "I turn into a snotty little nightmare."

He sighed and waved his hand impatiently. "Make your point, I have to get this guy in to have his stitches out."

I gasped. "He's hurt? Awwww!" I immediately dropped my knees, reaching out for the dog. It ducked away and growled. Intimidated, I put my hands up and backed away. "Okay! We're cool! It's cool! Everything's cool! Everybody chill!"

I think the Sheriff might have been laughing, but it's hard for me to either confirm or deny that, because he's emotional range is so fleeting. It basically drifts from overly annoyed, to mildly annoyed. "What did you need me for this morning?" He asked.

"I was just going to tell you that the officer who took me to that crime scene the other night?"

Sheriff's jaw hardened and any warmth in his face vanished, as he seemed to reset to his typical irritated expression. "Officer Williams."

"Is she the one that was at the desk this morning?"

"Officer Williams was appropriately reassigned to a duty that was more suitable to her instincts."

I whistled lowly, my eyebrows raised as I pushed off the ground and brushed my knees off. "I mean… she was put on desk duty, right?"

Sheriff remained stoic. "I didn't fire her. I wouldn't do that. She told me what you said. You don't have to feel guilty for her mistake. _Not_ that you're blameless," He leveled a finger at me. "Because if you show up at a crime scene like that again, there will be—"

"Consequences?" I filled in, and Sheriff drew his chin up to regard me before nodding. "You know, you're _much_ less aloof than people say," I told him with a smile and a scrunch of my nose.

He snorted and waved me towards the entrance. "Okay, Audrey. Come on. You're late for work, aren't you?"

"My _god_ , you're good," I teased, shrugging my shoulders in a mock shiver as I fell into step beside his dog. "Can you teach me how to do that—um, expression you do?"

"What?" He asked, turning to scrunch his eyebrows at me.

"There it is!" I exclaimed, pointing at his face. He just shook his head at me, expression unchanging as he held the door open for me. I tried to mimic it and turned to face him when he stepped inside behind me, crossing my arms at him. "See, there. Am I—am I doing it?"

He watched as I tilted my head slightly, clenched my jaw, scrunched my eyebrows, and drew my lips tightly together.

Sheriff snorted and reached out to ruffle my hair, pushing me out of the way in the process, and I grinned. For the rest of his visit to the clinic, I copied everything he did. He would stand with his hands on his hips, and I would stand beside him and mimic it. He would tilt his head and scrunch his face as he listened, and I would do it too. It sort of brought down the tension in the room as he showed Deaton pictures of the injuries the bus driver sustained and asked what sort of animal, in his opinion, could inflict those type of wounds. Wolf? Mountain lion? (I kept my chupacabra comment to myself this time.)

After the Sheriff left, Deaton put me on cleaning duty. I'm not bitter about it—but sometimes this job really sucks. Since the dogs seem to have developed an acute phobia of Scott, usually Deaton is left to clean out their cages. But because I'm here tonight, I'm blessed with the task.

Let's just say I can't wait to shower. But the good part of it was the up close interaction I got with all the puppies and kittens. I mean, come on. Who doesn't love some good ole face time with a furry friend? So while Scott was handing Deaton bandages and retrieving vials of medicine, I was wiping out feces and scrubbing cage floors on my hands and knees.

Worst forty-five dollars I've ever made. Well, forty-five before tax. But I'm not complaining… maybe I can use that money to buy something good. Like a concert ticket. Or a Blu-Ray copy of the first season of Game of Thrones to go with the standard definition. You know, something practical.

* * *

"I think you should just let me be your life coach…" I told Scott, feeling more than a little disturbed after we left the hospital that evening.

Scott looked at me, obviously just as shaken by the absolute freak out that Garrison had when he stepped into his hospital room as I was. I have no idea what possessed my brother to step into that hospital room—I'd been talking with mom at the time, trying to steal some of her dinner for myself, and just casually gossiping about her coworkers behind their backs like I knew them. And then, off in the distance, we heard someone screaming from a hospital room, and my mom took off at a sprint towards Garrison's room like she just _knew_. I suppose it's her job to know, but still. It was sort of cool to see her in action.

I tried to lighten the situation by adding, "I mean, I _told_ you mom would catch on to what you were trying to do with that dinner-bribe of yours," I teased, deliberately pretending that I was referencing Scott's lame trick instead of the Garrison incident. Basically, his trick went something like: _Look mom I brought you dinner, I'm the perfect child and I love you so much. You're so pretty, also, can I use the car tonight?_ To be fair, I did warn him that she would see straight through it. "Next time, listen to your sister. Amateur."

Scott sighed and hung his head, the bike rolling between us as he pushed it along. If we wanted to actually ride the bike, one of the two of us had to hop onto the pegs in the back and the other had to push both of our weight, and neither of us felt quite up to those tasks, so we walked.

"I think I'm going to head over to Stiles' place for a bit," Scott told me, and I sighed.

"All I want to do is shower and pass out," I replied, and Scott raised an eyebrow at me.

"You sure?"

I nodded. "Go ahead. I'll see you tonight."

He waved me off and kept walking down the sidewalk as I split off to head onto our street. If I had bothered to pay attention at all, I would have realized that Scott was lying to me. But he was getting _good_ at lying, and besides that, I seriously was pretty disgusted after those five hours at work. And I was more than ready to curl up in my bed and turn on my TV to some mindless, simple MTV garbage.

When I hopped up the steps, I looked at the bare spots on the porch where the potted plants used to be, and sighed as I realized that those forty-five dollars I made tonight are already spoken for. I can't even blow that cash on weed. I need to make good on my promise to mom, which means replacing the pots I broke. Great.

As I headed inside, I mused to myself how much a pot actually costs, and whether I would have any cash leftover at _all_ after I purchased them. I was just hanging my backpack on the coatrack when I heard a clatter come from the kitchen.

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. For a moment, I couldn't think. And then my body hit the reset button and I was back, my mind whirling quickly as it logically worked through rational explanations.

Mom's at work—obviously. Scott went to Stiles' house. No one else has a key. Who the fuck could it be? Unless—could it be dad? No, dad's car isn't in the drive. Right? Did I miss it? Wait, I think I did see a vehicle in the drive now that I'm thinking about it... Or did I?

Another clatter, this time followed by the sound of someone rifling through the silverware... Where we keep the knives, oh God, don't panic Audrey!

I reached down and grabbed the bat that we keep near the coat rack, my hands steadier than I'd anticipated as I adjusted the grip. Muscle memory is a powerful thing. I used to be on a softball team as a child—what a silly child I was, given that I'm basically shit at sports—but one thing I learned was how to properly wield a bat.

I moved towards the kitchen, listening as it sounded like someone helped themselves to a bowl of cereal.

And I screamed when I saw there was in fact someone in my kitchen, and then _they_ screamed because I screamed, and then I screamed louder—out of frustration—when I realized it was Stiles all along.

Could have guessed.

I waved the bat out violently. "What are you _doing!?"_

He had his hands in the air, and he waved them spastically as he exclaimed, " _Me?_ What are you doing?"

"I'm defending my house!" I pointed the tip of the bat at him. "I thought you were a predator!"

"Whoa," He suddenly said, pointing at me. "Déjà vu…"

Without moving a muscle, I glanced around. "We've never done this before."

"No, but your brother said the exact same thing last time I snuck into your house."

"You've snuck into our house before!?"

He waved me off, apparently over his shock. "Just a couple times."

"A _couple_ times?"

"Where's Scott?"

"He's at _your_ house!" I snapped, angrily dropping the bat against my thigh. "Where you should be."

"Aw, crap." He looked down and pulled his phone out of his pocket, absently stirring at the bowl of cereal on the counter. "I'll text him."

"Yeah, no, help yourself," I dryly said, gesturing to the box of Fruit Loops on the counter. "Those aren't mine or anything."

He ignored me as he nodded firmly and put his phone back in his pocket. "Done," He announced, and I sighed.

"Well, I guess… I'm gonna shower, but want to watch some TV?"

He came out from behind the counter to join me. "You have to ask?"

About an hour later, Stiles and I sat in front of the television, completely mesmerized by the show that was on. Game of Thrones. He had never seen it, so once I was freshly showered and laundered, I decided to show him the first episode. I sat nearby with my chin balanced nervously on my hands, watching his every reaction. Living vicariously through him—wishing I could get amnesia just so I could relive the whole experience again, but willing to settle for spreading the miracle to other's lives.

I should go door-to-door, like a Jehovah's Witness. I would adopt a similar greeting to them—be super shady about how I introduce myself. _Good morning,_ I would say. _Isn't the world in a desperate situation? Wouldn't you like to see an end to pain and suffering?_ And then I'd whip out a pamphlet advertising the first season of Game of Thrones. I mean, talk about doing God's work.

Joking, of course. I'm only joking.

In all seriousness, I never know how to handle salesmen or solicitors when they come to the door. Mostly I'll just straight up ignore them, but sometimes I'll answer without looking. Which is really dangerous, actually. But what do I even do in those situations? Do I engage in conversation? It seems like even when you say you aren't interested, they find reasons to keep the conversation going in an attempt to steer it back to whatever they're trying to sell you. So is it better to just close the door in their face? Or is that just plain rude?

So lost in my own mental ramblings, I didn't realize that the room had dragged on for about a minute of uninterrupted silence as the theme music played with the credits. I turned to look at Stiles and realized he was staring at the screen. If I had to guess, I'd say he was still processing his emotions.

He looked at me, opened his mouth, and his phone rang. It was worse than having your birthday candles blown out by someone else, or ending a game of tic-tac-toe just before you can make the winning move.

Stiles frowned slightly and answered his phone. "Where have you been?" He asked, standing from the couch. I perked up because I knew it was Scott at that point. "You _what?_ Without me!?"

"What?" I whispered, and Stiles waved me off, pressing his finger against his ear to hear Scott better. I waved my hand at him, annoyed. "Where did he go?"

"Well what did he say!" Stiles demanded, and then paused to listen to Scott's answer. I continued to whisper questions to him, but he wasn't even responding to me through facial expressions. I had a feeling that whatever Scott did must have been pretty stupid, because Stiles wasn't in the mood to joke with me. "Are you sure?... Because, I don't know! PTSD?... It sounds like a horrible idea, but okay. I'll meet you there. Bye."

As soon as he lowered the phone, I pounced on him. He quickly explained that Scott had gone to see Derek to ask him for advice on how to handle his weird-dream-slash-possible-sleep-walk-from-hell. I knew it was because of what happened in the hospital. The way that Garrison reacted must have fucked Scott up more than I realized at the time. I'm guessing it has something to do with how intensely afraid Garrison had been of Scott.

"I _told_ him not to take it personally," I fumed to Stiles as we made our way to the front door. "Garrison was traumatized! It doesn't matter who waked him up, he probably would have freaked out anyways! You guys saw the way he woke up on that gurney, right? It was the same thing and Scott was nowhere near him!"

"I know," Stiles cried, smacking my shoulder enthusiastically. "That's what I said! I told him it was probably just post traumatic stress disorder that made him react like that. It probably wasn't even his fault!"

"Exactly," I nodded, and we both paused to reflect for a moment. "So what now?"

"Now, I guess we're going to look on the bus."

"You're what?" I scoffed, and at Stiles' defensive reply, I realized he was serious.

"I'm not saying it's a good idea!" He snapped, waving his hand. "But Derek told him to do it, and that's what Scott wants to do."

"Sure, listen to the serial killer," I dryly commented, and Stiles smirked despite the situation.

He reached over to pat my head. "Sometimes I think you're my sister, and not Scott's."

I did my best not to bristle. I did. But I failed miserably, because did Stiles just call me his _sister!?_ Oh, God, I've been friend zoned.

He looked at me strangely, pulling his hand away. "What?" He asked, hesitant.

I quickly cleared my face and scrubbed at the top of my hair, spastically smoothing it. "You're messing up my hair!"

He rolled his eyes. "Are you coming or not?"

And with that, we headed to the school.

* * *

"For the record, this _rebrands_ the concept of Stupid Ideas."

Scott gave me a dirty look as Stiles climbed out of the jeep and shut the door behind him. "Do you have a better way to help me remember?"

"Sure!" I exclaimed. "Some really strong peyote tea could probably do the trick for you."

"Hallucinogens," Stiles dryly nodded. "That's your big idea?"

"Returning to the scene of the _crime_?" I hissed, poking Scott's chest. He rubbed at the spot indignantly. "That's some Criminal Minds behavior!"

"It's _all_ we've _got_ ," He hissed back, finally letting some of that McCall sass drip through.

"No," I stubbornly persisted, and I crossed my arms at him. "It's all you've gotten from _Derek_."

"Yeah, and he's the only one who actually has experience with being a werewolf," Scott countered.

I rolled my eyes. "He's also got experience in _stalking!"_

"I'm doing this," Scott told me, pointing at the ground for emphasis. "You can stay here and keep watch if you're so worried."

"I'm not worried," I said, pointing at him to give him a dose of his own medicine. "I'm right!"

Scott scoffed at me and shook his head. "You're so freaking conceited."

"Whoa," I replied, my hands up. "Look out! Scott's breaking out his big words!"

"Okay, guys!" Stiles interrupted, coming between us and putting his hands out in a gesture that was just short of a referee blowing his whistle and throwing a flag down. "Can we argue later? I'm starting to feel exposed out here."

We looked around the parking lot. It was dark out at this point, a fact that didn't help to quell my trepidation. The bus lot was fenced off, and I tried to spot the bus that Scott was going for to try and see if the police tape had been removed, but I couldn't see it from back here. He would definitely have to scale the fence. And, if I'm joining him, I'll have to scale it, too.

Scott set off without another word, and Stiles immediately followed in tandem.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Scott asked, pushing Stiles back by the chest.

Stiles put his hands out in question.

"You can't come!" Scott said. "Someone has to keep watch!"

"Hello!" I waved my hand dramatically. "Right here. And look," I poked at my face. "Eyes that work! They work so great, I can tell you that you need a hair cut, Shaggy," I snippily said, just to annoy Scott.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not leaving you out here alone."

Cue eye roll. "Why? Because I'm a girl?"

"Yes," He replied, unapologetically. "Because you're my sister!"

"Aw," Stiles interrupted, touching his chest. "That was precious."

Scott glared at him and I shook my head.

"Don't be dumb. I can handle myself."

"I'm not leaving you here."

"So you'll leave me with Stiles?" I asked, jabbing a thumb in his direction. "What's he going to do if someone attacks us? Sass them to death?"

"No, actually, that's you." Stiles pointed at me and I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Telling me that wasn't a sassy thing to say?"

"And _that_ wasn't?"

"Look, you're both sassy," Scott said, putting his hand up to both of us. "But I have to do this alone. You guys will just distract me. I need all my senses focused to pull this off."

I crossed my arms, pouting.

"Okay, why is this starting to feel like you're Batman and I'm Robin?" Stiles asked, and Scott and I looked at him strangely. "I don't wanna be Robin all the time!"

"Well, Stiles, buddy," I patronizingly said, tilting my head at him. "What are you planning to do? Go do Scott's job for him? I hate to break it to you—but you can't even smell when you need to change your shirt. I doubt you can smell what happened last night."

"Shut up," He sneered, and I smirked as Scott shook his head.

"She's right. One of us is staying with her, and the whole reason we're here is for me to do this. So I'm sorry, but you have to stay behind."

"Fine!" He stormed back to the jeep and Scott shook his head as he turned to grab the fence.

"Wait!"

He stopped and turned around to glare at me. "What?"

"Your tag is sticking out," I said, and he reached back to touch at the back of his neck. "Hah!" I exclaimed. "Made ya look," and with that, I sped back to Stiles' jeep before Scott could yell at me.

"Very mature," Stiles observed, as I went to join him where he leaned against the front of the jeep.

"Very mature," I mocked, and he rolled his eyes at me.

"I can't believe you're fifteen."

"I know," I said, flipping my hair like Beyonce. "I look so much younger."

He snorted loudly and restlessly tapped his foot. "What's taking him so long?"

I raised my eyebrow and turned to look back at Scott. He'd just scaled the fence and stopped in the middle of the parking lot with his back to us, breathing heavily.

"You know what would be funny?" I asked, and Stiles turned to me, curious.

"What?"

"Picture the Thriller video happening, but in real life, with us as the cast."

He grinned and crossed his arms. "Scott would be Michael Jackson, I'm sure. And we would be his zombie minions."

I scrunched my eyebrows at him. "Are you really that jealous of my brother?"

Stiles huffed and tried to play it off with a laugh, glancing at me as he shook his head. "No, not really. I mean, it's just a little boring to always be the look out, you know? He gets to see all the action."

Knowingly, I mimicked his stance and looked at him with my chin tucked. "And he gets all the glory. And all the baaabes…" Stiles shook his head and tried not to grin as I continued. "And you're stuck here, babysitting." He started to speak, but I interrupted him. "Listen, honestly? I can tell you feel like you're just tagging along for the ride these days. I mean, _you_ used to be the one to suggest the crazy shit, right?"

Stiles looked at me with a small frown, his mouth drawn tightly as I continued.

"Who suggested going to look for a body in the woods? Was that Scott?"

Stiles looked away, not quite rolling his eyes, but clearly feeling somewhat uncomfortable under my frighteningly accurate analysis.

"Who wanted to join lacrosse last year? Was that _Scott's_ idea?"

"But which one of us always comes out of it on top?" He asked, finally responding as he pushed off the jeep to look at me. "Yeah, I suggested going to the woods. But I came out of it with a scolding from my dad, and look at what _Scott_ got! I mean, he's _actually_ Captain America!" He exclaimed, and I laughed, cringing at his comparison.

"Oh, my god!" I chuckled, wincing at Stiles. "That's _actually_ pathetic. You feel so sorry for yourself! Look at you!"

Stiles looked ready to snap. "Forget it!"

"No, seriously, if Scott is Steve Rogers, who does that make you?"

He paused, looking at me from the side. "…Bucky?"

I tapped the side of my nose with a wink. "The Winter freaking Soldier. And everyone knows the Winter Soldier is cooler."

Stiles puffed his chest up. "Hm." He seemed to reflect for a minute, and I almost missed his face darkening as he thought. "And now he's first string? Scott is _first_ string? And I'm still on the bench! I mean," He scoffed and shook his head. "Come on!"

"See!" I exclaimed. "You _are_ jealous. But it's so stupid! You don't need to feel like you're getting left behind or something! You're not a sidekick, Stiles. You're his _best_ friend. _You're_ the one he trusts enough to have his back! You're the only one who has enough balls to stand beside him through this shit! This is crazy," I laughed, shrugging with my hands up. "What we're doing right now? It's insane! Think about it!"

Although I could tell my speech had lifted his spirits a bit, he was still visibly frustrated as he gestured between us and then vaguely around us. "Yeah. Look at us." He shook his head to himself and slowly came to lean beside me again.

I looked at him, as he stood with his arms crossed and stared at the ground. He was obviously still pouting. Clearly, he missed the point I was trying to make. "Stiles, not to sound too cheesy here, but you're the one who gives Scott the courage to do the shit he does. If it weren't for you he'd still be a skinny little nerd who sucks on an inhaler every two hours. He was like Regular Sized Rudy."

Stiles grinned and scratched the back of his head. "He was, wasn't he?"

I rolled my eyes to the sky in exasperation. "Yeah! So cut the pity party short, will ya? It's freaking depressing."

He pushed my shoulder and I pushed back.

A moment of amicable silence passed between us. In my usual style, I couldn't let it last long. "Also, you _might_ be glamorizing my brother just a little bit," I pinched my fingers together and squinted between them, nudging Stiles' shoulder with my elbow.

He sighed and I grinned to myself. If he doesn't think I'm funny, that's fine. _I_ think I'm hilarious.

"Audrey," He started, and I turned to him and tilted my head. He looked my face over. "Don't tell him anything I just said, okay? I don't want him to think—"

He broke off, and I pressed my lips together and nodded. He didn't need to finish. I get it.

Before I could comment, Stiles pushed away from the jeep with a serious expression, his eyes focused in the distance. "What?" I asked, turning to follow his gaze. He reached out and grabbed my shoulder to push me towards the jeep.

"Shit!" He exclaimed, and I caught sight of flashlight beams moving over the buses. "Go! Go, go!"

We scrambled into the jeep, and I considered screaming for my brother, but I couldn't say his name. I patted my pockets for my phone, the panic in my heart escalating as I saw the flashlight beams trail right across the back of the bus I knew Scott to be in.

The jeep horn cut through the night, echoing through the trees and the drizzly rain, and even causing a few birds to take to flight from the trees. I jumped in my seat in fright when I heard it, clutching at my chest, but I muttered at Stiles to do it again when he stopped.

Scott came bounding out from the darkness and literally flipped over the fence. As he crossed the distance to the passenger door, I dove to the backseat and shouted at Stiles to start the jeep.

He fumbled with the keys slightly as Scott got in. "Go!" Scott shouted. "Hurry up!"

Without turning the headlights on, Stiles threw the jeep in reverse and tore out of the parking lot like a maniac. I'll give him this: he's an excellent driver.

"Are you okay?" I asked, patting Scott's shoulder to check for any peculiar injuries or mutations that might have occurred. Everything appeared normal enough as he quickly nodded and breathlessly told me not to worry.

"Put on your seatbelt," He absently instructed, and I felt my eye twitch at the overprotective comment.

"What happened? Did it work?" I asked, before Stiles had the chance.

"Yeah," He nodded, rubbing at his nose as he turned in his seat to address us both. "Most of the blood on the bus was mine."

Stiles and I reared back to look at him with identical expressions of disturbance.

"Seriously?" I asked, and I barely had time to process what that meant before Stiles chimed in.

"So you _did_ attack him?"

I looked at Scott as he insisted, " _No!_ It wasn't me! There was someone else on the bus with glowing eyes. Someone other than me and the driver. I think it was Derek."

"You were trying to protect him," I realized, and suddenly it all made so much more sense. I sighed and crumpled back in my seat in relief, unaware that it felt like I'd been holding my breath since I heard about it this morning, and suddenly a weight was lifted from my shoulders.

Scott looked back at me with a mildly concerned expression and gave a small nod.

"I don't get it," Stiles said, shaking his head. "Why would Derek try to help you to remember that _he_ attacked the driver?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, that doesn't make much sense."

"I don't know!" Scott frowned, clutching at his head like he was desperate to claw the memories from his own brain if he had to. "I can't remember!"

"Maybe it was a test," I said with a shrug. "Maybe he just wanted to see how much you could actually do on your own. Like, how much of a threat are you really, kind of thing?"

"Or maybe it was more of an initiation test," Stiles corrected. My stomach grew heavy in disturbance as the implication of what that would mean sank in.

"What do you mean?" Scott asked, frowning between us.

"Like a—like a rite of passage? To complete the transition or something?" I guessed, and Stiles shrugged hesitantly.

"Maybe. Or maybe it was more of a bonding thing."

Scott snorted and shook his head. "Yeah? Well, I've got news for Derek. I'm not interested!"

I sighed and sat back, threading my fingers into my hair. "He's crazy!"

"Scott, listen, you didn't do it!" Stiles said, his voice upbeat. "Which means you're not a killer! And it also means that—"

"I can go out with Allison," Scott breathed, the relief in his voice palpable.

Stiles glanced between Scott and the road. "Well, I was going to say it means you won't _kill_ me..."

"Oh, yeah," Scott quickly added, awkwardly. "That too."

I rolled my eyes. " _Dude_ ," I chastised, and Scott sheepishly looked back at me and shrugged.

After that, it grew somewhat tense on the drive back. Well, not tense, exactly. It was a relief because we were finally able to know for certain that Scott is _not_ a killer. Not that any of us are surprised by that. But it was also tense, because what the hell is Derek getting at?

I'm personally still upset that Scott keeps going to Derek. I mean, I get it; Derek has _experience_ or whatever, but come on! He's a lunatic! You can smell crazy on him. He keeps following Scott everywhere, watching, _waiting_ for something. For what? For him to slip up? And what happens if he does? He'll _kill_ him? Or worse…

And another thing? I don't like the explanation that Stiles gave for Derek's motivation to help Scott. It just feels… _not right_ to me. It feels like we're trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. I don't have enough information to go off of, but something about Derek doesn't strike me as the _bonding experience_ type of dude. Even if it entails murdering someone, which admittedly seems like something he might be into. He just comes off as the Lone Wolf sort of guy, pun intended. Like: _No thank you, I can kill this guy just fine on my own. Go find your own bus driver._ You know what I mean? But if that were true, why would he have bitten Scott in the first place?

I don't know. Something about Derek isn't adding up for me. And it's hard because I don't know that the others can see it, and I don't have _nearly_ enough information to make a case. I guess it's just what you would call a gut instinct.

Whatever Derek's motivations are, one thing is for certain. Even after tonight, I don't think we're any closer to the truth.

"Crap! What time is it?" Scott asked, since there wasn't a digital clock in this antiquated jeep. He dug through his pocket for his phone, apparently determined to answer his own question as Stiles glanced between him and the road helplessly.

"I don't know, around eight-thirty?"

" _Crap!"_ Squeezing his phone in his hand after he looked at the time, Scott smacked his fist against his leg.

"What?" I asked.

"I have a date in fifteen minutes!"

"But you guys aren't meeting until nine."

"Yeah, but the bowing alley is across the town!"

I lurched across the seats to raise my eyebrows in my brother's face. "Good thing you can run like the wind," I said, dropping a set of keys into his lap.

He gasped, snatching up the silver keys and holding them to the moonlight. "Mom's keys? How did you get these?"

I smirked and dropped back into my seat. "Nah, that's _my_ trick. You've got enough."

He reached back to hug my neck and I pushed him off. "Thank you!" He exclaimed.

"Get out of here, ya filthy animal," I joked, and he grinned as he said a quick goodbye to Stiles.

"Wait, what?" Stiles said, glancing between us and the road. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah, sorry! I gotta go, dude."

"Wait—"

He barely even had the chance to slam on the brakes before Scott was out of the jeep and disappearing into the woods.

Stiles and I stared at the open door for a moment; our hearts racing from the adrenaline of watching Scott hop out of a moving vehicle like it was nothing.

I swallowed. "That's gonna get really old, really fast."

Stiles nodded, and I sighed loudly as I pushed myself over the seat. "What are you doing?"

"You might be my chauffeur for the night, but I hate sitting in the back," I told him, reaching out to shut the door. When I turned back, I let out another sigh, slightly winded from the physical exertion it took to climb over the seat in under fifteen seconds flat. "I should start working out more."

Stiles pursed his lips. "Just don't jog in the woods again. It turned out pretty badly for everyone."

I laughed and he shook his head as he started to drive. I reached down to turn the radio up, flipping through the channels.

Rap—skip. Country— _skip_. Nickelback? I glanced at Stiles, and he gave me an unimpressed look and shook his head. I shrugged, and skipped. Some generic pop.

Finally, I rested back into the passenger seat and listened to some song about dropping it, or waving it, or kicking it or whatever it said.

"So what's the plan?" Stiles suddenly asked, and I looked at him in surprise.

Awkwardly, I glanced away briefly before looking back at him. "The… plan?"

He nodded at me. "Yeah, like tonight. What are your plans for tonight?"

Instinctively, my heart skipped. I know he wasn't, but it felt like he was just asking me out, but I know that's not what he means. But it still got me. "Uh—my plans… go home."

His eyebrows rose. "And?"

Oh. He wants, like, details? I shifted in my seat. "Study for biology. Pray that I passed the quiz this morning. Cry into my homework. Scroll through Tumblr. Consider doing the responsible thing by going to purchase a new set of flowerpots for the porch, go to the gas station instead and buy some Airheads, go home to continue studying because it'll probably be too late to go to the hardware store, watch YouTube videos instead, stress about the money I just wasted on candy, wait for mom to come home, watch some recordings on the DVR with her, gossip about Project Runway, put on the Lion King, pass out on the couch, tease Scott about his date when he gets home. Find something to—"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Stiles interrupted, cutting his hand through the air with an amused grin. "Your life is sadder than mine." My jaw dropped and I scoffed, but he pressed on. " _Somehow_ , I don't know how, but _somehow_ , it is."

"Oh—okay!" I grinned. "So what are your big plans for tonight?"

He paused and thought it over. "Probably the same."

I laughed because I hadn't expected him to say that. "No video games?"

He tilted his head in a variation of a shrug. "Well, that too."

I shook my head at him and paused. "Do you still have that game cube?"

Interest piqued, he looked back at me. He seemed to consider it before responding. "Yeah, actually. I do. Want to come over?"

And that's how I spent the rest of the night getting my ass whooped in Mario Kart. Seriously? It's harder than it looks, so don't judge me too harshly. Plus, Stiles is _really_ good. And he's had years of practice.

"Who needs lame double dates," I said, stuffing some more ice cream into my mouth. We'd just finished making sundaes, and were sat in his kitchen. "Scott doesn't know what he's missing."

Stiles paused with his mouth around his spoon, peeking up at me.

"What?" I asked, frowning.

He cleared his throat and dug his spoon through his ice cream, searching for a cluster of pecan. "No—nothing… it's just that this is actually a normal Tuesday night for me and Scott. We do this a lot. Like… a lot."

I looked down and sighed. "I need friends."

"Hey," Stiles complained, reaching over to flick my forehead. "That's offensive!"

I put my hands out. "Dude, are we friends or not? Because sometimes you deny it, and other times you get pissy when I say I need more. Which is it?"

"Aud," He said with wide eyes, as if I had over reacted. "Calm down! It was a joke."

I watched him, wary. When a few moments of silence passed, I reached up to rub my forehead and looked away. "Sorry."

He shrugged it off and started talking about Scott's double date in a thinly veiled attempt to vent to me about Lydia.

The truth is, the topic of our relationship had been weighing on my mind. I can tell myself I don't have feelings for Stiles, but every now and then he'll say something I find particularly endearing and my heart flutters and I realize how bad I have it for him. It's a difficult truth to admit to yourself when you know that there's no point.

Especially when I know, down deep were I live, that Stiles really does just view me as his sister. It's evident in the way he treats me ninety-nine percent of the time. He said it himself in passing not too long ago! It's when someone says something in passing that you know it's how they truly feel. Because they didn't filter their thought, didn't even think before saying it.

Sure, occasionally he'll flirt, but I think that's just his nature. Our two personalities are bound to interact that way at some point. It doesn't mean anything.

So having a label would be nice, if only to figure out once and for all how he truly feels about me. This is a problem I'd been burying for a couple months now, if I'm honest. It started around the end of school last year, when I was feeling really low and insecure, and Stiles just went out of his way to do something nice for me.

I was whining because I needed to find a job. Then, one day Stiles came home with Scott from his job at the clinic and informed me that he'd asked Deaton if he had any spots available. He started telling me about the position. What Scott does on a daily basis, how much it paid, what the hours were. I can still remember feeling awkward as he rambled to me—it was the most he'd spoken directly to me in… ever. And I thought it was so weird for him to be explaining this to me. It was Scott's job—not his? And I assumed he was asking about the position because _he_ wanted it. Actually I assumed Stiles was sent to distract me while Scott went off to prank me. Or steal something.

Then he told me that it was mine if I wanted it. And I just looked at him, stunned, and I stared for so long that he misread the look on my face. He said that there was also another position somewhere else he'd heard about, if that's not something I was interested in, and—I don't know. It just sort of… made me feel special. That he'd gone through so much trouble just to find me a job.

Stiles is the kind of guy who does things like that for the people he cares about. And it may be partly because he's curious, but it's also mostly because he cares. It truly is no big deal to him too, which just makes it so much better.

Anyways, it might seem silly, but from that point on I went out of my way to do little nice things for him, like purchase shirts I know he'd like when I saw them as I was shopping. Or record a show on television that I'd heard him say he likes so he can watch them when he's over. Or listen to the bands I hear him rant about, to see if they're actually as good as he says they are. And they typically are.

Oh god, I sound pathetic, don't I? But after that day, I searched for excuses to talk to him. Informing myself on his interests were the best way to go about doing that. Scott noticed, too. He would call me out when I suddenly chimed in on a conversation about some band that Scott knew I'd never listened to a day in my life. I could easily cover by saying he doesn't know everything about me, but we both knew he was right.

Whatever.

Stiles grabbed my bowl when I was finished and went to clean it, and I tried not to think about how perfectly that aligned with my train of thought. So what, he's considerate? So what, he's loyal? Tons of boys are.

But no one has his sense of humor.

Ugh, fuck it all.

"Well, do you want me to take you home?"

I stood from his table and stretched. "You don't have to do that," I said, reaching into my pocket for my phone. "I'll text Scott and tell him to pick me up when his date is over."

From a hall I'd barely even looked down, Sheriff emerged from some unknown part of the house. Stiles hadn't given me a tour or anything when we came over. He went into his room to grab his Gamecube and then plugged it into the TV in the living room, and we stayed out there the whole time until we came to the kitchen to have sundaes.

Sheriff was moving quickly and purposefully, dressed in his uniform.

"Hey, where you going?" Stiles asked, pushing away from the sink he leaned against.

Sheriff glanced over and did a double take when he saw me. "Uh, hey Audrey. Where's Scott?"

"On a date," I nodded, and he glanced at Stiles to elaborate.

"A double-date," Stiles said, unhelpfully. "With Allison, Lydia and Jackson."

"Oh," Sheriff nodded, as if he followed, even though it was clear he didn't. He frowned and thought it over for another half second before he quickly shook his head and looked back at me. "So you kids having fun?"

It was also clear that he felt awkward having me here. I looked at Stiles, amused, and we both seemed to realize at the same time that his dad was unsure if Stiles and I were on a date, and he didn't know how to approach the question—or if he even should.

"Uh, yeah, we're just waiting for Scott to finish up so he can come take her home."

Sheriff frowned at his son disapprovingly. "Why don't you be a gentleman and offer to take her home yourself?"

Stiles' jaw dropped and he put his hand out, but before he could speak I swallowed my laugh and waved him off. "I told him it was fine. He's been carting me around all night, and your guys' house is on the way home from the bowling alley anyways."

Sheriff nodded. "Okay, but isn't Allison's house in the opposite direction?"

I paused, glancing at Stiles quietly. Admittedly, I hadn't thought of that, but he's right.

Stiles nodded and put his hands out as if to calm everyone. "Okay, you know what? I'll take Audrey home, okay, dad? Happy?"

He pointed a finger at his son in warning, and Stiles raised his hands higher in surrender. "I don't know what time I'll be back, so make sure you lock up when you get back from taking her home, okay?"

Stiles drummed his fingers across the counter to feign nonchalance as his dad slid his dark brown Sheriff's jacket on. "What—uhh… Where are you going?"

"To the hospital." Sheriff glanced at me, and I couldn't tell if it was because he was reluctant to disclose too many details or because he still found it strange to have me in his house without Scott. "The bus driver succumbed to his wounds. He died."

 _Oh_. I raised my eyebrows in shock, shaking my head as this information processed in my mind. Um… okay. So he's not hesitant to share the details, then. "That sucks," I said, eloquently, and Stiles cringed on my behalf.

The Sheriff cocked an eyebrow at me and pressed his lips together. "So I'll be back later. You kids... try to stay out of trouble. I know it's a challenge for you."

Stiles waved at his dad and I mimicked him as the Sheriff opened the front door and stepped out. Just before the door shut, he poked his head back in. "And Stiles?" He called.

Stiles perked up. "Yep?"

"Don't leave that thing out in the living room, okay? It's a mess of cords right now, and I'm not going to be the one to untangle it in the morning if you leave it there."

Stiles glanced at me, embarrassed, and I grinned smugly at him and tilted my head to taunt him. He puffed out his cheeks. "Okay," He mumbled.

With that, his dad shut the door.

As soon as we were alone, we turned to each other and silently freaked out.

"Oh my god!" Stiles quietly exclaimed, and I nodded frantically. "I can't believe he died!"

"I know! This is gonna kill Scott!"

"You know what this means, don't you?" Stiles asked, and I paused and tried to think of what he meant. But I came up blank.

"…We tampered with a crime scene tonight?"

Stiles blinked. "Well, uh… yes, but no." He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "It means that Derek actually killed him!"

"Ohhh," I said, lowly, and looked down as I thought it over. I covered my cheek with my hand. "This is gonna kill Scott."


End file.
